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.DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 


^^:^« 


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BT 


G.  P.  R.  JAMES,  ESQ., 

▲ITTHOR   OF   "THK   WOODMAN,"   "  GOWRIE,"   "THE   CONVICT,"   "  THK   FOBaKBr," 
"THIBTY  YEARS  SINCE,"  "  EICHELIKU,"  &C.,   &C. 


V^'rrft 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

82    CLIFF    STREET. 

1850. 


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DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 


FRANCE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

AMBOISE. 

There  is  a  solitary  hall,  ceiled  by  a  vaulted  roof,  with  five 
tall  windows  looking  to  the  south,  through  which  the  moon- 
light is  pouring  on  the  floor.  It  is,  perhaps,  forty  feet  in 
length,  and  somewhat  less  than  thirty  in  width,  with  the  walls 
destitute  of  ornament,  and  the  furniture  scanty,  though  rich. 
A  long  table  occupies  the  center  of  the  hall ;  seats  are  ranged 
on  either  side  ;  but  no  guests,  for  the  moment,  tenant  the 
chamber,  and  the  only  light  is  that  afforded  by  the  bright 
planet  as  she  wanders  further  and  further  to  the  south. 

Hark,  a  door  opens.  It  is  that  of  ihe  ante-chamber  ;  and 
the  wind  which  it  admits  shakes  the  door  of  the  hall,  and 
makes  it  rattle  on  its  hinges.  Other  sounds  find  their  way 
in  also  ;  those  of  voices  laughing  and  talking.  They  are  soon 
excluded,  as  the  door  of  the  ante-room  is  closed  again ;  and 
then  a  man,  in  the  dress  of  a  servant,  enters,  bearing  a  lighted 
taper.  His  step  is  slow  and  quiet ;  and  one  by  one  he  lights 
the  candles  in  the  sconces,  arranges  the  seats  more  orderly 
round  the  table,  and  retires. 

A  few  minutes  after  there  comes  a  buzz,  and  then  the  noise 
of  opening  doors,  and  steps  ;  and  then  the  end  of  the  hall  is 
thronged  by  some  twenty  or  thirty  men,  all  entering  together. 
They  pause  ibr  a  moment,  as  if  waiting  for  some  one,  ere 
they  take  their  seats ;  and  a  harsh,  grating  sound,  like  that 
of  a  key  turning  in  a  lock,  is  heard  from  the  ante- room.  The 
next  instant,  passing  through  the  midst  of  them,  as  they  draw 
back  to  give  him  entrance,  comes  the  lord  of  the  Castle  of  La 
Ferte  himself  Somewhat  less  than  the  middle  height,  but 
beautifully  and  gracefully  formed,  with  a  face  of  almost  fem- 
inine beauty,  and  a  world  of  nre  and  intelligence  in  his  bright 


4  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

black  eyes,  dressed  "v^ith  exquisite  taste  and  neatness,  and  with 
a  free  and  dignified  carriage,  he  advances  toward  the  head  of 
the  table,  looking  and  feehng  the  prince. 

"  Be  seated,  noble  sirs,  be  seated,"  said  Conde  ;  "  I  crave 
your  pardon  for  detaining  you  ;  but  it  is  better  that  an  empty 
room  shouLi  he  between  ourselves  and  Ustening  ears.  All  my 
people  are  doubtless  honest ;  but  yet  I  am  fond  of  having  a 
lock  between  them  and  my  counsels."  i 

One  by  one  they  took  their  places  round  the  table.  The 
first — who  seated  himself  on  the  right  hand  of  Conde — was 
dressed  iji  a  scarlet  robe,  with  a  broad  edge  of  lace.  He  ad- 
vanced with  a  quiet,  gliding  step,  a  graceful  air,  and  a  coun- 
tenance the  general  expression  of  which  was  mild  but  shrewd. 
The  features  were  good,  the  forehead  broad,  the  eye  quick  and 
clear,  and  there  was  a  bland  and  pohshed  smile  about  the 
mouth  which  was  wondrous  wiiming. 

It  was  the  Cardinal  de  Chatillon. 

The  next  who  appeared  was  a  powerful  man  of  the  middle 
age,  with  thin,  white  locks,  and  somewhat  shaggy  eyebrows. 
The  brow  was  broad  and  massive,  the  lower  part  of  the  face 
square  cut,  the  chin  somewhat  prominent,  and  the  lips  and 
teeth  compressed,  as  if  he  feared  his  thoughts  might  have  too 
ready  utterance.  He  was  plainly  dressed  in  a  dark  brown 
suit,  and  across  the  back  of  his  large,  bony  hand  was  the  scar 
of  an  ancient  wound.  His  steps  were  peculiarly  slow  and 
considerate,  each  one  faUing  firm  upon  the  floor,  and  seeming 
to  take  hold  of  it,  before  another  was  advanced.  It  was  a 
very  characteristic  step ;  and  those  who  knew  the  Admiral 
de  Coligni,  could  tell  his  approach  by  his  footfall  long  before 
they  saw  him. 

Next  came  his  brother,  D'Andelot,  somewhat  taller  than 
CoUgni,  with  his  hair  much  darker  and  his  forehead  higher, 
but  not  so  broad.  His  movements  were  lighter  and  more 
free,  and,  though  the  features  of  his  face  were  stern,  there  was 
a  bold  and  open  frankness  in  the  expression,  and  a  somewhat 
sarcastic  turn  of  the  lip,  which  diminished  the  likeness  be- 
tween himself  and  his  brother.  He  advanced  quickly  to  his 
seat,  cast  himself  down  upon  it  abruptly,  and  swung  his  arm 
over  the  tall  back  of  the  chair.  < 

Some  eighteen  or  twenty  more  made  up  the  parly  ;  and 
among  them,  as  they  ranged  themselves  round  tbe  table, 
might  be  seen  many  a  dilierent  set  of  features,  many  a  difier- 
ent  expression.  There  was  the  hard  aj^d  stern,  the  hght  and 
gay,  the  dull  and  heavy,  the  look  of  thoughtless  simplici- 


FRANC  E— A  M  B  0 1 S  E.  ,5 

ty,  aud  the  keen  and  fox-like  glance  of  the  shrewd  i^ncf  cun- 
ning. 

As  soon  as  they  were  all  seated,  the  Prince  de  Conde  looked 
to  Coligni,  as  if  expecting  him  to  speak  ;  but  Coligni  was  si- 
lent ;  and  the  prince  then  began  the  consultation  himself,  by 
saying,  with  his  eyes  still  turned  toward  the  admiral, 

*'  I  think  we  are  all  agreed  that  this  is  to  be  borne  no 
longer,  and  that  immediate  steps  must  be  taken  for  wrench- 
ing the  staff  of  riile  out  of  the  hands  which  usurp  it,  for  re- 
storing it  to  our  sovereign,  from  whom  it  has  been  virtually 
snatched,  and  for  freeing  France  from  the  oppression  of  the 
house  of  Lorraine." 

Coligni  bowed  his  head  slowly  ;  and  the  prince  went  on  in 
the  same  rapid  manner  to  paint,  with  a  few  sharp,  decided 
touches,  the  state  to  which  he  said  France  was  reduced  by 
the  family  of  Guise,  and  ended  with  a  laugh,  saying, 

"  So  now,  noble  gentlemen,  our  business  is  to  consider  how 
we  will  catch  the  wolf  without  getting  our  fingers  bit." 

"  Faith,  I  mind  not  if  he  fix  all  his  fangs  in  my  left  hand, 
so  my  right  be  free  to  cut  his  throat,"  replied  D'Andelot. 

"  We  must  leave  the  choice  of  which  hand  he  will  bite  to 
himself,"  said  the  Cardinal  de  Chatillon,  with  a  quiet  smile, 
"if  we  do  not  take  care  that  he  shall  not  bite  at  all.  We 
must  be  more  wary  than  we  have  been,  my  good  brother,  not 
alone  because  we  may  be  injured  ourselves,  but  because  we 
may  irretrievably  ruin  a  good  cause,  and  sacrifice  the  best  in- 
terests of  France  by  any  precipiUncy.  What  say  you,  Mon- 
sieur de  Rohan  ?"  " 

"  Decision  of  counsel,  firmness  of  purpose,  careful  prepara- 
tion, and  resolute  execution  are  all  needed,"  said  the  duke  ; 
"  but  I  think  your  eminence  saw  some  difficulties  in  the  way 
of  our  acting  together  as  a  body  before  every  preparation  is 
separately  made." 

"Nay,  my  noble  friend,"  said  the  cardinal,  with  a  courtly 
smile,  "  your  usual  generosity  attributes  to  me  that  wise  fore- 
sight which  you  yourself  so  eminently  possess.  It  was  you 
who  suggested  that  it  would  be  better  for  all  inferior  person- 
ages belonging  to  the  party  opposed  to  the  tyranny  of  the 
Guises  to  be  prepared,  armed,  and  on  their  march  before  the 
principal  personages  took  any  share  in  the  enterprise." 

Rohan  understood  the  Cardinal  de  Chatillon  well,  and  knew 
that,  although  apparently  as  frank  and  free  as  D'Andelot,  he 
was  at  heart  as  reserved  and  cautious  as  Coligni,  and  never 
loved  to  commit  himself  to  an  opinion  where  he  could  help  it. 


6  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

"True,"  he  answered;  "but  it  was  your  foresight  of  the 
dangers  which  induced  me  to  suggest  the  course  by  which 
they  might  be  avoided.  You  saw  that,  if  we  were  to  superin- 
tend all  the  details  of  the  enterprise  ourselves,  our  frequent 
meetings  would  call  the  jealous  eyes  of  power  upon  us,  and 
means  would  be  taken  to  frustrate  our  efforts  ere  our  plans 
were  well  matured." 

"  Well,  well,"  cried  D'Andelot,  "  it  matters  little  which 
found  the  hole,  and  which  set  the  trap  ;  by  my  faith  I  we  must 
cease  compliments.  What  is  the  plan  suggested  ?  I  do  not 
understand  it." 

"  To  move  the  pawns  forward  before  the  knights  and  cas- 
tles," said  Conde,  with  a  light  laugh. 

"  Not  forgetting  to  keep  the  bishops  out  of  all  danger,"  re- 
plied D'Andelot ;  "  but  let  us  hear  more  of  the  game." 

It  was  then  that  the  voice  of  Coligni  was  heard  for  the  first 
time. 

"  There  are  nearly  two  millions  of  Protestants  in  France," 
he  said,  in  a  calm,  grave  tone,  "  and  on  them  we  must  prin- 
cipally rely  to  overthrow  the  tyi-anny  of  those  who  have  op- 
pressed them,  although  we  may  hope  for  the  assistance  of  all 
good  men  who  hate  tyranny,  whatsoever  be  their  faith.  Of 
those  two  millions,  there  are  fully  three  hundred  thousand 
capable  of  bearing  arms.  At  the  moment  of  action  they  must 
have  a  leader,  who,  from  his  high  position,  will  have  authority, 
and  who,  from  his  miUtary  skill,  will  be  at  once  recognized  as 
the  fittest  person  to  command  them.  There  is  but  one  on 
whom  the  task  can  fall :  the  noble  prince  here  on  my  left. 
But  if  he  should  take  any  part  in  these  proceedings  before  the 
moment  for  action  is  arrived,  he  will  lead  the  eyes  of  our  ene- 
mies to  the  conduct  of  the  inferior  agents  ;  for  the  very  quali- 
ties which  fit  him  for  the  task  render  him  an  object  of  jealousy 
of  those  whom  we  seek  to  overthrow.  The  Protestant  party, 
and  all  who  are  inclined  to  act  with  them  in  opposing  oppres- 
sion, must  be  warned,  prepared,  armed,  and  directed  ;  and  the 
difficulty  to  be  overcome  is  to  find  a  means  of  effecting  this 
without  exciting  suspicion.  Consider  of  it,  gentlemen.  It 
can  be  done,  undoubtedly.  The  question  is,  how  it  may  best 
be  done." 

"  If  each  of  us  were  to  employ  some  secret  agent  in  his  own 
neighborhood,"  said  a  gentleman  some  way  down  the  table, 
'•  and  were  to  sufi^er  him  to  make  all  the  arrangements  in  his 
own  name  ?" 

"  Among  so  many  we  should  find  a  Judas,"  said  D'Andelot. 


FRANCE— AMBOISB.  f 

"  You  can  never  make  toils  to  catch  a  lion  out  of  butterfly- 
nets,"  replied  Conde. 

"It  must  be  trusted  to  one,"  murmured  Coligni,  in  a  low 
voice.     "  There  is  no  strong  action  without  unity  of  design." 

"  There  must  be  a  leader,  I  think,"  said  the  Cardinal  de 
Chatillon,  in  his  quiet,  insinuating  manner,  "  during  the 
time  of  preparation,  as  well  as  a  chief  at  the  moment  of 
action." 

*'  And  that  leader,"  said  the  Duke  de  Rohan,  "  must  be  one 
not  sufficiently  distinguished  to  attract  observation,  but  suffi- 
ciently resolute  and  energetic  to  obtain  authority  by  the  force 
of  his  own  mind,  sufficiently  docile  to  follow  the  course  pointed 
out  to  him,  and  sufficiently  trust- worthy  not  to  betray  the  cause 
in  which  he  is  engaged." 

"  A  combination  of  rare  qualities  !"  exclaimed  D'Andelot, 
"  only  to  be  found  united,  I  believe,  in  myself— and  the  other 
gentlemen  present." 

He  spoke  with  an  abrupt  laugh,  as  if  he  thought  it  impos- 
sible to  find  a  suitable  person  ;  and  the  conversation  became 
for  a  few  moments  broken  up  into  low  consultations,  at  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  table,  between  the  gentlemen  placed  near  each 
other. 

At  length  a  name  began  to  be  mentioned — though  who 
originally  brought  it  forward  no  one  ever  knew — and,  at  first 
passing  about  in  whispers,  it  was  at  length  pronounced  aloud. 
Conde,  as  soon  as  he  caught  it,  exclaimed,  "  La  Renaudie  ? 
The  very  man  I" 

Several  of  the  gentlemen  looked  doubtful ;  and  the  Cardinal 
de  Chatillon,  although  he  knew  the  man's  history  well,  said, 
in  a  quiet  tone,  "  La  Renaudie  ?     Who  is  he  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  him  in  a  few  words,"  said  Conde. 
"  He  is  a  man  without  scruples  and  without  fears.  As  to  his 
rehgion,  he  will  give  offense  to  no  church  and  no  sect  by  that. 
He  has  the  courage  of  a  lion,  the  activity  of  a  deer,  the  perse- 
verance of  a  ferret,  the  cunning  of  a  fox.  His  eloquence  is 
extraordinary,  and  can  be  used  for  any  purpose  he  has  in  view ; 
for  he  can  find  equal  arguments  for  all  sorts  of  persons,  and  has 
no  hesitation  in  using  them.  He  once  nearly  persuaded  me 
that  robbery  is  honest,  and  lying  truth." 

*'  I  think  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  the  cardinal.  "  Was 
he  not  tried  for  forgery  in  Perigueux  ?" 

"  No,  he  was  not  tried,"  answered  Conde.  *'  He  was  only 
arrested  ;  but  prison  walls  have  little  hold  upon  him.  He 
soon  got  out,  and  went  to  Switzerland  till  the  storm  had 


a  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

blown  over.     He  has  lived  among  storms,  indeed,  all  his  life, 
but  always  got  his  boat  safe  into  port." 

"  Were  it  not  dangerous  to  trust  such  important  secrets  to 
such  a  man  V  asked  a  grave  personage  from  the  bottom  of  the 
table. 

"  No,  my  noble  friend,  no,"  answered  Conde.  "  He  has 
one  principle ;  and  it  is  all  the  stronger  for  being  solitary.  He 
never  betrays  any  one,  and  some  five  years  ago  had  nearly  lost 
his  life  by  this  discreet  honesty.  But  I  may  as  well  answer 
all  objections  at  once,  for  the  moment  his  name  was  mention- 
ed I  saw  that  he  was  the  man  for  our  purpose.  He  is  of  a 
good  family  in  the  South,  so  that  he  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
communicating  with  all  our  best  friends  ;  and  I  have  no  fear 
whatever  in  taking  upon  myself  the  task  of  communicating 
with  him,  without  risking  the  intervention  of  any  one  else. 
Thus  no  one  will  be  put  to  hazard,  and  as  soon  as  your  plans 
are  fully  sketched  out,  I  will  send  for  him,  and  propose  the 
enterprise  to  him." 

"  I  hope  your  highness  will  take  care  of  paper,"  said  Rohan. 
"  One  never  knows  how  it  will  appear  when  it  comes  out  of 
La  Renaudie's  hands." 

Conde  nodded  with  a  smile,  replying,  **  Word  of  mouth, 
word  of  mouth,  my  friend.  He  will  undertake  the  task,  I  am 
sure  ;  for  I  believe  he  would  steal  the  thunder-bolts  out  of  the 
hand  of  Jupiter,  or  filch  the  keys  from  Saint  Peter." 

"  Is  he  of  the  Reformed  Church  ?"  demanded  the  cardinal. 
"  Oh,  we  ask  no  questions  about  religion,"  exclaimed  D' An- 
delot.  "  No  one  inquires  into  yours,  my  good  brother  ;  and 
we  must  not  narrow  down  our  operations  into  a  mere  religious 
movement.  It  is  one  in  which  all  good  men  of  France  may 
join  who  seek  to  throw  off'  oppression.  Otherwise,"  he  add- 
ed with  a  smile,  "  how  happen  we  to  have  you  among  us  to- 
day?" 

"  One  thing  ought  to  be  made  clear,"  said  a  heavy-looking 
man,  who  had  hitherto  taken  no  share  in  the  conversation. 
"  Are  we  justified  in  taking  arms  for  the  purposes  in  view  ?" 
Coligni  turned  his  calm,  thoughtful  eyes  upon  him  with  a 
look  of  some  surprise ;  and  the  gentleman  added,  •'  Depend 
upon  it,  it  is  a  question  which  wiU  be  put  by  many,  when  the 
matter  is  first  proposed  to  them." 

Conde  looked  impatient ;  and  D'Andelot's  lip  quivered  ;  but 
the  Cardinal  de  Chatillon  interposed  with  his  mellifluous 
voice  and  soft,  courtly  manner,  saying,  "  That  is  a  subject 
which  should  have  been  touched  upon  before.     My  noble 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  9 

friend  Monsieur  de  Seez  might  be  quite  sure  he  would  not 
see  me  here  unless  I  had  ascertained  that  we  are  justified  in 
law  as  well  as  in  conscience.  The  first  jurisconsults  in  France 
have  been  applied  to,  as  to  the  question  of  how  far  it  is  law- 
ful to  take  arms  for  the  purpose  of  freeing  the  king  and  the 
state  from  the  oppression  of  those  who  now  rule  it.  I  have 
the  answers  of  three  of  them  here  in  writing.  Look  at  them, 
Monsieur  de  Seez,  and  let  all  scruples  vanish.  Copies  of 
these  must  be  given  to  La  Renaudie,  in  order  to  remove 
doubts  wherever  he  finds  they  exist." 

He  handed  the  papers  down  the  table,  each  person  taking 
a  glance  at  them  before  he  passed  them  to  the  next ;  and 
these  several  great  points  being  determined,  a  long  consulta- 
tion ensued  in  regard  to  the  details  of  the  enterprise.  Several 
times  Conde  quitted  the  room  ;  once  to  seek  a  map,  once  to 
bring  a  large  paper  register  in  which  were  inscribed  numer- 
ous names  of  families  and  villages.  The  party  did  not  sepa- 
rate till  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  and  after  he  had 
reached  his  chamber,  Coligni  sat  for  nearly  half  an  hour  in 
deep  thought,  with  his  cheek  resting  on  his  hand,  but  with- 
out any  change  of  expression  crossing  his  calm  and  marble 
countenance. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AMBOISE. 

In  various  parts  of  France,  now  here,  now  there,  in  cities, 
in  hamlets,  in  castles,  and  in  cottages,  sometimes  by  night, 
sometimes  in  the  broad  day,  passing  from  place  to  place  with 
a  rapidity  which  seemed  to  give  him  the  quality  of  ubiquity, 
coming  and  going  no  one  knew  whence  or  whither,  and  leav- 
ing no  trace  of  his  passage,  but  a  stern  and  thoughtful  look 
on  the  faces  of  the  men  with  whom  he  conversed,  was  seen  a 
powerful  man,  somewhat  above  the  middle  height,  with  a 
handsome  countenance,  a  prepossessing  air  and  manner,  and 
a  dress  plain  but  rich,  savoring  somewhat  of  the  military, 
somewhat  of  the  mercantile  man. 

He  was  always  well  mounted,  always  well  furnished  with 
money,  always  alone.  Sometimes  he  stopped  with  those  he 
Bought  only  for  a  moment,  sometimes  he  remained  for  an 

A2 


m  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

hour  or  two.  Sometimes  he  spoke  with  gay  and  laughing 
tenderness  to  the  children,  sometimes  with  gallantry  to  the 
women,  and  at  othei-s,  in  a  graver  tone,  to  the  men  ;  but  in 
almost  all  cases  he  left  them  pensive.  Even  the  children 
drew  back  and  gazed.  His  eye  had  a  peculiar  fascination  in 
it,  which  drew  attention  at  once :  his  voice  a  strange  power, 
■which  seemted  to  carry  the  words  beyond  the  ear,  direct  to  the 
heart  and  mind  :  and  on  he  went,  ever,  as  I  have  said,  alone, 
sometimes  stopping,  it  is  true,  to  speak  with  a  horseman  who 
met  him  on  the  road,  but  passing  forward  speedily,  and  nei- 
ther seeking  nor  suffering  companionship  on  his  journey. 

At  Christmas  he  was  at  Rheims ;  on  New-year's  eve  in 
Paris;  mi  the  third  of  January,  1550,  at  Rennes ;  on  the 
fifth  at  Angers ;  on  the  sixth  at  Nantes.  No  one  seemed  to 
know  his  business  ;  no  one  called  liim  by  his  name  ;  few  ask- 
ed him  any  questions ;  but  all  listened  to  him,  and  all  re- 
mained thoughtful. 

It  was  a  gay  and  busy  time  in  the  good  old  town  of  Nantes. 
The  Parhament  of  the  province  was  assembled  within  its 
walls ;  fetes  and  ceremonies  were  going  on ;  multitudes  throng- 
ed the  streets  and  the  churches ;  and  little  boys,  who  had 
come  with  their  parents  from  the  country,  stood  by  the  side 
of  the  Loire,  and  dropped  stones  upon  the  thin  ice.  But 
many  a  one  in  that  old  town  sat  quietly  in  some  private  room, 
reading,  with  a  heavy  brow,  "  The  Defense  against  Tyrants," 
or  "  The  History  of  the  House  of  Guise,  Masters  of  all  France," 
or  "  The  Chapter  of  St.  Michael,"  or  some  of  the  other  lam- 
poons or  satires  of  the  day. 

But  toward  nine  o'clock  at  night,  one  by  one,  up  a  nar- 
row street  in  the  older  part  of  the  city,  went  man  after  man, 
wrapped  in  general  in  a  short  cloak,  and  with  the  bonnet 
pressed  over  the  brow.  There  seemed  nothing  remarkable 
about  them,  except  that  they  all  went  in  the  same  direction, 
and  all  stopped  opposite  a  large  ancient  house,  and  all  went 
in  at  the  same  door.  It  was  neither  church,  nor  spectacle, 
nor  private  dwelling  that  they  sought ;  but  they  found  their 
way  to  a  very  spacious  old  hall,  dimly  lighted,  with  a  table 
toward  the  upper  end,  and  some  benches  around.  The  room 
soon  grew  crowded  ;  and  at  length  the  doors  were  shut. 

For  some  time,  no  order  prevailed,  men  stood  together  in 
groups  and  talked  in  low  tones,  or  seated  themselves  on  the 
benches  and  conversed  with  their  neighbor  in  a  whisper. 

That  man  who  had  been  so  lately  at  Rheims,  and  Paris, 
and  Angers,  waa  among  them  there  ;  and  he  went  from  one 


FRANC  E— A  M  B  0 1 8  E.  11 

to  another  at  the  lower  part  of  the  hall,  saying  a  few  words 
to  many,  but  to  none  speaking  much. 

At  length,  some  gentlemen  ranged  themselves  on  the  up- 
per side  of  the  table.  Those  below  left  as  much  space  round 
it  as  they  could ;  and  several  persons,  who  seemed  of  author- 
ity, spoke  to  the  assembly,  descanting  in  general  terms  on 
the  evils  of  the  times,  the  misgovernment  under  which  France 
labored,  and  the  oppression  of  the  house  of  Guise  ;  but  none 
proposed  remedies,  nojie  pointedly  mentioned  the  cause  of  their 
meeting. 

There  were  occasional  murmurs  and  some  signs  of  impa- 
tience ;  for  most  of  the  persons  there  M^ere  more  fully  prepar- 
ed for  speedy  action  than  their  leaders  thought.  A  voice  had 
gone  forth  among  them,  telling  that  the  evils  under  which 
France  groaned  were  intolerable,  and  they  required  something 
definite.  They  did  not  come  to  hear  things  which  they  had 
all  heard  a  hundred  times ;  they  did  not  come  to  learn  what 
they  all  knew  right  well.  What  they  asked  in  their  hearts 
was,  "  How  was  their  state  to  be  redressed  ?" 

At  length  a  tongue  pronounced  aloud  the  name  of  "  La 
Renaudie,"  and  a  dozen  others  took  it  up  instantly. 

There  was  a  pause  ;  and  then  a  clamor  of  the  same  name, 
in  the  midst  of  which,  that  solitary  traveler  over  the  face  of 
the  land  came  forward  to  the  table,  and  was  greeted  by  a 
shout  as  if  he  were  destined  to  be  the  savior  of  France. 

Then  poured  forth  the  stream  of  eloquence,  the  most  sub- 
tle, the  most  plausible,  the  most  powerful,  the  most  persua- 
sive. There  was  a  mixed  multitude  before  him,  of  different 
classes,  characters,  feelings,  passions,  interests,  objects,  preju- 
dices ;  but,  by  a  peculiar  and  wonderful  power,  he  seemed  to 
hold  their  reasons  and  their  wills  at  his  disposal.  The  prej- 
udices of  each  seemed  to  be  courted  and  enlisted  in  turn,  the 
objects  of  each  seemed  certain  to  be  obtained  by  the  course  he 
advocated  ;  each  man  found  something  to  win  him,  each  some- 
thing to  persuade  him.  No  one  saw  that  the  ends  were  in- 
compatible, the  interests  irreconcilable,  the  means  inharmo- 
nious with  the  object.  He  prophesied  boldly ;  he  flattered 
expectation ;  he  obscured  all  risks ;  he  displayed  all  hopes  ; 
he  offered  change  to  men  enduring  evil.  He  was  the  proto- 
type of  the  agitator  of  the  present  day. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  report  what  he  said  ;  and  were 
it  possible,  the  report  would  not  convey  the  truth  ;  for  one 
half  of  his  eloquence  consisted  in  his  knowledge  of  the  men 
whom  he  addressed.     He  began  by  assuring  those  who  heard 


12  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

him  of  his  loyalty  and  attachment  to  his  king,  and  went  on  to 
declare  that  it  was  the  interests  of  the  king  that  first  he 
sought.  The  authority  of  the  monarch,  if  not  his  life,  was 
in  danger,  he  said,  from  the  ambition  of  the  house  of  Guise. 
The  people  of  France  were  mere  serfs  to  the  family  of  Lor- 
raine. The  princes  of  the  blood  royal  were  trampled  under 
the  feet  of  upstarts.  Nobles  and  peasantry  groaned  beneath 
one  yoke.  In  a  few  bold,  powerful  words,  he  drew  a  fearful 
picture  of  the  state  of  the  land  ;  and  as  briefly,  but  as  power- 
fully, displayed  what  it  might  be.  He  assured  his  hearers 
that  all  the  principal  personages  of  the  realm  were  ready  to 
co-operate  with  them,  that  success  was  certain,  and  the  end 
prosperity..  He  spared  no  assertions;  he  refrained  from  no 
prophecies  ;  and  then  he  sketched  out  his  scheme  in  its  broad' 
details. 

There  was  to  be  a  universal  arming,  merely  to  overawe. 
The  preparation  for  resistance  would  paralyze  the  arm  of  op- 
pression. A  deputation  of  gentlemen,  unarmed,  were  to  pre- 
sent a  petition  to  the  king  for  the  redress  of  the  grievances 
pointed  out.  If  rejected,  they  were  to  seize  the  Duke  of  Guise, 
the  cardinal  his  brother,  and  their  principal  supporters,  and 
to  place  the  gallant  Prince  de  Conde  at  the  head  of  affairs 
till  the  king  was  old  enough  to  rule  firmly.  The  people  were 
to  stand  by  armed,  and  to  see  this  eflected.  In  the  mean  time 
secret  levies  were  to  be  made  in  all  parts  of  France,  and  per- 
sons were  to  be  chosen  from  those  present  to  superintend  the 
raising  of  the  troops. 

No  burst  of  applause  followed  his  eloquence ;  but  a  low, 
well-satisfied,  consentmg  murmur  ran  through  the  assembly. 

A  voice  from  the  head  of  the  table  exclaimed,  '•  We  are  all 
agreed.     Let  us  to  action." 

An  oath  was  proposed  and  administered,  to  aid  in  carrj'ing 
out  the  scheme  suggested.  Every  one  took  it  readily ;  six- 
teen persons  were  chosen  to  raise  the  necessary  troops  in  all 
the  provinces  ;  and  then  began  the  movement  of  many  feet 
toward  the  door. 

La  Renaudie  was  the  last  to  quit  the  hall,  except  a  serv- 
ant who  extinguished  the  lights ;  and  in  darkness  and  in  si- 
lence each  man  carried  to  his  home  the  dangerous  secret 
with  which  he  was  loaded. 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  13 


CHAPTER  III. 

AMBOISE. 


In  a  fine  old  chateau,  in  one  of  the  midland  parts  of  France, 
now  called  the  department  of  Cher  et  Loire,  sat  a  gentleman 
of  the  middle  age,  with  a  fine  broad  forehead,  eyes  full  of  mild 
and  intelligent  light,  and  an  expression  of  countenance  betok- 
ening a  calm,  high-toned,  resolute  spirit.  There  was  a  deep 
scar  upon  his  cheek,  but  it  diminished  very  little  the  placid 
beauty  of  his  face ;  and  his  tall,  manly  form,  and  graceful, 
dignified  carriage,  seemed  to  speak  the  soldier  and  the  gentle- 
man. At  his  knee  stood  a  beautiful  little  girl  of  eight  or  nine 
years  of  age,  half  reclining  on  his  bosom,  and  looking  up  with 
her  large,  dark,  speaking  eyes  into  his  face,  while  he  gazed 
down  upon  her,  and  played  with  the  shining  curls  of  her  hair. 
She  had  no  mother,  and  the  memory  of  buried  afiections  min- 
gled with  and  deepened  the  tenderness  of  the  surviving  parent 
for  his  only  child.  Her  light  prattle  seemed  like  music  to  his 
ear,  though  he  was  a  man  of  high  thoughts  and  commanding 
intellect.     But  all  really  great  men  have  loved  children. 

In  the  midst  of  their  conversation,  the  door  of  the  room, 
in  which  they  sat  near  the  window,  opened  quietly,  and  a 
man  entered,  booted  and  spurred.  It  was  the  wanderer,  whom 
I  have  mentioned,  over  so  many  parts  of  France  ;  and  as  soon 
as  he  appeared.  Monsieur  de  Castelnau  kissed  the  fair  fore- 
head of  his  child,  and  sent  her  from  him. 

When  she  was  gone,  La  Renaudie  approached  the  master 
of  the  house,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  The  day  is  the  fifteenth  of  March  ;  the  place,  Blois. 
How  many  men  do  you  think  you  can  bring  ?" 

"  Some  hmidred  and  fifty,"  replied  the  Lord  of  Castelnau ; 
"  but  I  think  it  needless,  and  even  hazardous,  to  bring  them 
in  arms.  I  have  read  the  paper  that  you  gave  me,  and  see 
nothing  in  the  resolutions  taken  that  could  compromise  my 
loyalty  or  my  faith.  I  presume  that  the  names  affixed  to 
that  paper  are  a  guarantee  that  no  more  is  intended  than  is 
there  set  down." 

'•Nothing,  upon  my  honor,"  replied  La  Renaudie. 

"  If  so,  why  then  go  in  arms  ?"  demanded  the  Lord  of  Cas- 


14  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

telnau.  **  The  gentlemen,  of  course,  will  bear  their  usual 
weapons  ;  but  why  should  they  arm  their  tenants,  if  the  in- 
tention be  merely  to  prove  to  the  king  the  sense  of  the  great 
mass  of  the  people  ?" 

*'  Because,  with  the  rule  under  which  we  live,"  replied  La 
Renaudie,  *'  the  highways  of  France  are  no  longer  safe.  Dy- 
ing vipers  will  bite  ;  and  as  soon  as  these  men  find  that  their 
last  hour  is  coming,  they  will  assuredly  strive  to  strike  some 
blow,  either  for  vengeance  or  for  safety.  It  may  fall  upon 
me ;  it  may  fall  upon  you  ;  but  the  only  means  to  render  it 
harmless  to  any,  or  perhaps  to  avert  strife  altogether,  is  to  go 
prepared  for  resistance,  and  to  make  sure  that  no  one  party 
of  true-hearted  men  be  cut  off  by  the  way  in  going  to  pull 
down  a  tyrant." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  replied  the  Lord  of  Castelnau, 
after  a  short  pause.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  repeated, 
thoughtfully  ;  "  but  let  me  order  you  some  refreshment." 

*'  No,"  replied  La  Renaudie  ;  "  I  must  forward  upon  my 
way.  I  have  these  seven-and-thirty  noble  gentlemen  to  see 
before  nightfall.  The  whole  of  France  is  with  us,  except  the 
creatures  of  the  Guise." 

Thus  saying,  he  turned  away.  The  Lord  of  Castelnau  re- 
called his  child,  and  listened,  sometimes  with  attention,  some- 
times absently,  to  her  innocent  talk.  The  wanderer  sped  on 
from  chateau  to  chateau,  and  from  house  to  house,  staying 
but  a  few  moments  at  each,  till  night  fell.  The  next  morn- 
ing found  him  following  the  same  career,  but  approaching 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Paris  as  he  went.  The  wind  and  the 
rain  beat  upon  him.  The  snow  came  down  and  flecked  his 
black  horse's  sides.  The  morning  light  found  him  in  the  sad- 
dle :  at  the  close  of  day  he  was  still  hurrying  on. 

At  length,  on  quitting  the  door  of  a  large  mansion,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  leagues  from  Paris,  he  murmured,  *'  Well, 
that  is  done,"  and  tore  into  small  fragments  a  long  list  of 
names  which  seemed  to  have  guided  him  on  the  way. 

He  then  rode  forward,  and  entered  the  city  just  after  night- 
fall. Through  the  dark  and  narrow  streets,  with  the  tall 
houses  rising  up  story  above  story  on  either  hand,  without  a 
gleam  of  light  to  show  the  way,  except  when  some  careful 
citizen,  picking  his  steps  over  the  muddy  stones  by  the  glare 
of  a  lantern,  drew  back  against  the  houses  to  avoid  being 
splashed  by  the  passing  horse's  feet,  La  Renaudie  rode  on  till 
he  came  to  the  quarter  in  which  stands  the  Palais  de  Justice. 
There,  in  a  small,  tortuous  street  at  the  back  of  the  great 


1 


FRANCE— AM  BOISE.  15 

"building,  he  drew  in  the  rein  before  a  melancholy-looking 
house,  with  a  great,  yawning  porte  cochere,  which  was  not 
opened  to  him  till  he  had  knocked  frequently  At  length  a 
porter  appeared,  and,  seeming  to  recognize  the  visitor,  threw 
the  gates  back.  But  La  Renaudie  dismounted  in  the  street ; 
and,  giving  the  rein  to  the  man,  he  said, 

*'  Take  the  horse  over  to  the  Swan,  Barbe,  and  let  it  be 
well  cared  for.     I  will  find  my  way  up  alone." 

The  porter  did  as  he  was  directed  ;  and  the  visitor  entered 
the  small,  confined  court,  from  the  bottom  of  which,  one 
looked  up  toward  the  sky  as  if  from  the  depth  of  a  well. 
Though  there  was  no  light  but  the  faint  gUmmer  of  a  cloudy 
spring  night  above,  he  found  his  way  to  a  small  door  at  the 
further  side  of  the  court,  and  mounted  the  stairs,  which  pre- 
sented themselves  immediately  on  entering.  They  were  slip- 
pery with  dirt,  and  mieven  with  much  usage.  There  was  a 
close,  foul  smell  in  the  stair-case  ;  and  no  wind  ever  seemed 
to  find  its  way  in,  except  by  the  open  door  below.  Step  after 
step  he  went  up,  passed  the  first  floor  and  the  second,  but 
halted  at  the  third,  and  there  knocked  for  admission.  A  door 
was  opened  by  a  neat,  jimp-bodiced  peasant  girl,  who  smiled 
to  see  him,  and,  on  asking  if  Maitre  Avenelles  was  at  home, 
she  answered, 

"  Yes,  Sieur  Renaudie,  he  is  in  his  little  study." 

The  light  which  was  in  her  hand  served  to  show  the  way 
along  a  narrow  passage,  with  branches  here  and  there,  and 
manifold  doors  upon  the  right  and  left.  It  was  evidently  a 
large  apartment  or  floor  in  one  of  the  great  old  houses  of  a 
part  of  Paris,  then  principally  inhabited  by  advocates  and 
men  of  the  robe.  The  visitor  seemed  to  know  it  well,  how- 
ever, for  he  walked  straight  on ;  and,  finding  his  way  to  a 
door,  nearly  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  he  opened  it,  and  went 
straight  in,  without  knocking. 

A  pale,  middle-aged  man  was  seated  at  a  table,  reading  a 
book.  His  face  and  his  figure  seemed  wasted  by  thought  and 
study ;  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  was  grave  and 
anxious.  He  started,  as  the  door  opened,  with  a  nervous  sort 
of  jerk ;  but  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  his  whole  face  bright- 
ened up,  and  he  shook  La  Renaudie  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  I  could  not  think  what  had  become  of  thee,  old  school- 
fellow," he  said.  "  Thou  hast  not  been  here  these  four 
months  ;  and  I  feared  thou  wert  in  some  new  trouble.  The 
room  is  always  ready,  and  I  am  right  glad  to  see  thee.  But 
come,  we  will  both  wash  our  hands,  for  thou  art  dusty  with 


16  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

one  dry  road  and  I  with  another,  and  then  we  will  have  some 
supper,  and  a  bottle  or  two  of  the  old  Burgundy  which  thou 
lovest  so  well," 

"  Agreed,  Avenelles,  agreed,"  rephed  La  Renaudie,  in  a 
very  diiierent  tone  from  that  in  which  he  spoke  to  other  men. 
**  I  have  been  living  the  life  of  an  anchorite  for  the  last  three 
months,  never  venturing  to  take  more  than  two  finger-breadths 
of  wine  to  a  glass  of  pure  water,  lest  any  thing  should  escape 
my  lips  that  I  might  afterward  wish  unspoken." 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  said  Avenelles,  with  a  laugh.  "  What,  plot- 
ting, plotting  ?  Thou  wilt  bring  thyself  to  mischief  some 
day." 

"  Or  make  my  fortune  and  save  my  country,"  answered 
La  Renaudie  ;  but  at  that  moment  the  servant  girl  appeared  ; 
and  he  followed  her  to  a  good  large  chamber,  containing  a 
heavy,  old-fashioned  bed. 

Li  half  an  hour  more  La  Renaudie  and  Avenelles  were 
seated  at  a  small,  well-dressed  supper,  for  the  advocate  loved 
hfe  and  the  good  things  thereof.  The  Burgundy  was  excel- 
lent, and  they  both  drank  deep ;  but  La  Renaudie  did  not 
forget  himself  that  night. 

The  next  morning  the  advocate  had  to  attend  the  courts 
early,  to  plead  in  a  cause  which  he  expected  would  detain 
him  all  day  ;  and  he  parted  with  his  friend  and  school-fellow, 
telling  him  they  would  meet  again  at  supper.  The  cause 
was  tried  and  decided  sooner  than  he  expected  ;  and  when  he 
returned.  La  Renaudie  was  out.  Soon  after  Avenelles  heard 
his  step  as  he  came  in,  and  proceeded  toward  his  chamber. 
Then  there  were  other  steps  going  in  the  same  direction,  A 
man  passed  along  the  passage,  carrying  something  that  jin- 
gled like  pieces  of  iron  as  he  went.  Avenelles  looked  out  and 
saw  that  it  was  an  armorer's  boy,  loaded  with  several  sorts 
of  weapons. 

All  the  morning  something  of  the  same  kind  went  on. 
Visitor  after  visitor  entered  La  Renaudie's  chamber,  remained 
a  few  minutes  with  him,  and  then  departed  ;  and  the  curios- 
ity of  the  advocate  was  aroused. 

He  determined  to  find  out  what  it  all  meant.  He  dared 
not  ask  La  Renaudie  openly,  for  he  had  much  reverence  and 
some  fear  for  his  old  school-fellow — the  reverence  and  fear 
which  the  timid  and  the  cunning  feel  for  the  bold  and  the 
decided,  even  while  they  undervalue  their  intellect,  and  read 
them  homilies  on  their  rashness.  He  determined  to  trust  to 
wine  and  good-felloM'ship,  saying  to  himself,  "  La  Renaudie 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  17 

will  trust  me  if  any  man  upon  earth.  I  am  his  oldest  friend 
in  the  world.  Perhaps  he  has  something  in  hand  by  which 
I  may  benefit.  We  are  cruelly  oppressed  here  in  France,  it 
is  true  ;  and  we  poor  advocates  suffer  more  than  any  other 
class,  what  between  one  extortion  and  another.  I  ought  to 
have  been  a  master  of  requests  by  this  time." 

The  hour  of  supper  came.  The  Burgundy  was  there,  the 
nice  little  well-dressed  meal,  with  many  a  provocative  to 
drinking.  The  tidy  maid  set  the  dishes  on  the  table  and  dis- 
appeared. Avenelles  began  his  approaches  prudently.  At 
first  he  talked  of  matters  he  had  heard  mentioned  in  the 
courts,  of  the  creation  and  sale  of  several  new  offices  for  the 
purpose  of  raising  money,  of  a  new  order,  issued  by  the  house 
of  Guise,  forbidding  any  one  to  bring  complaints  or  remon- 
strances to  the  king,  under  pain  of  the  royal  displeasure  and 
of  punishment.  La  Renaudie  knew  him  to  be  a  discontent- 
ed man,  and  replied  in  such  a  way  as  he  thought  would  irri- 
tate him  still  more  against  the  court ;  but  still  he  knew  him 
also  to  be  a  timid  man,  who  would  serve  no  party  well  till 
he  saw  its  success  assured,  and  therefore  he  was  cautious. 
He  agreed  with  his  complaints  ;  he  joined  in  his  murmurs  ; 
but  for  the  time  he  told  him  nothing.  The  wine  flowed  ; 
both  drank  steadily  ;  and  gradually,  as  Avenelles  saw  that  it 
had  its  effect  in  loosening  the  bonds  which  La  Renaudie 
placed  upon  his  tongue,  he  led  him  on  skillfiilly,  still  plying 
him  with  the  juice  of  the  grape.  From  speaking  of  grievan- 
ces, they  began  to  talk  of  how  wrongs  might  be  redressed ; 
and  the  advocate,  as  well  as  his  companion,  feeling  the  influ- 
ence of  the  wine,  spoke  hopefully  of  the  future.  They  agreed 
that  the  time  must  come  when  the  people  of  France  would 
throw  off  the  yoke,  and  that,  sooner  or  later,  some  great  effort 
must  be  made  to  free  the  state  from  the  oppressive  family 
which  sat  upon  it  like  an  incubus. 

Encouraged  by  the  tone  of  his  companion,  and  thrown  off^ 
his  guard  by  the  first  stage  of  drunkenness.  La  Renaudie,  at 
length,  told  the  advocate  that  the  time  had  already  come, 
that  men  were  prepared  to  hurl  the  obnoxious  house  of  Guise 
to  the  ground,  and  that  the  month  of  March  would  not  pass 
without  a  catastrophe  which  would  give  liberty  to  France. 

The  surprise  in  Avenelles'  countenance  first  woke  La 
Renaudie  to  a  sense  of  his  imprudence,  and  he  would  tell 
him  no  more.  His  thoughts,  too,  he  perceived,  were  not  clear. 
He  recognized  the  effect  of  the  grape,  and  he  put  away  the 
full  glass  untasted.     But  it  was  too  late. 


18  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

On  the  following  morning  La  Renaudie.  quitted  Paris. 

Avenelles  woke,  feeling  feeble  and  depressed.  He  had 
gone  to  bed  with  vague  visions  of  prosperity  and  success,  and 
whirling,  beautiful  changes  floating  before  his  eyes,  like  moats 
crossing  a  sunbeam.  But  the  wine  had  now  lost  its  power, 
and  he  was  anxious  and  out  of  spirits.  He  was  burdened 
with  a  heavy  secret.  He  was  full  of  fears  for  himself  and 
others.  He  knew  enough  to  feel  alarm,  but  not  to  derive 
confidence,  A  great  fabric  seemed,  to  his  imagination,  to  be 
falling  to  pieces  around  him ;  and  he  thought  he  might  be 
crushed  to  death  in  the  ruins.  For  three  days  he  bore  the 
load  about  with  him  in  silence,  pondering,  meditating,  trem- 
bling. Whenever  he  thought  of  it  his  heart  failed  him.  It 
took  away  his  appetite.  It  distracted  his  thoughts.  Wine 
gave  but  a  temporary  relief;  and  when  the  excitement  was 
over,  the  depression  was  more  great.  He  would  have  given 
the  world  to  see  La  Renaudie  again  ;  but  by  this  time  he 
was  far  away  in  the  Vendomois.  Avenelles  sought  something 
to  lean  against,  like  all  weak  men.  He  would  fain  have 
shared  the  responsibility  which  oppressed  him  with  another, 
forgetting  that  by  merely  putting  a  burden  on  another  man's 
shoulders,  we  do  not  reheve  our  own. 

A.t  length  it  became  insupportable ;  and,  as  if  moved  by 
despair,  he  hurried  away  to  the  house  of  a  man  named  Mar- 
magne.  He  was  a  shrewd,  cool,  cautious  courtier ;  an  epi- 
curean in  his  principles,  but  a  little  more  licentious  tlian  Epi- 
curus, and  not  quite  so  strict  in  his  notions  of  justice  as  a 
magistrate  should  be.  He  was  only  a  master  of  requests, 
however  ;  but  it  was  a  lucrative  office  ;  and  he  owed  it  to  the 
kindness  of  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine.  There  was  some  friend- 
ship between  him  and  the  Advocate  Avenelles,  for  at  heart 
they  were  both  of  the  same  school  of  philosophy ;  and  the  lat- 
ter met  with  a  very  gracious  reception,  and  was  listened  to 
with  every  mark  of  kindness  and  respect. 

Before  he  left  the  house,  however,  Marmagne  extorted 
from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  set  oft'  at  once  to  convey 
his  own  confession  to  the  Duke  of  Guise  at  Blois.  It  was 
the  only  means,  he  assured  him,  that  could  now  save  him 
from  torture  and  decapitation.  He  took  care  to  assure  him- 
self that  the  promise  was  fulfilled,  for  he  set  a  man  to  watch 
the  movements  of  Avenelles,  and  to  follow  him  on  horseback, 
stage  by  stage,  to  Blois.  He  had  every  cause,  however,  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  haste  and  exactness  of  his  terrified  peni- 
tent.    Avenelles  set  out  that  very  night,  and  hurried  post  to 


FEANOB— AMBOISE.  19 

Blois.  ^But  there  he  was  disappointed  in  his  expectation. 
Rumors  had  got  abroad  of  plots  and  conspiracies.  No  one 
knew  whence  they  arose,  or  on  what  ground  they  rested. 
They  seemed  but  mere  shadows,  phantoms  of  the  popular 
imagination  ;  but  they  attested  the  existence  of  great  discon- 
tent ;  and  the  Duke  of  Guise  wisely  removed  the  court  from 
Blois  to  the  better  defended  city  of  Amboise.  The  king,  his 
young  and  beautiful  wife,  her  gallant,  depraved,  and  ambitious 
uncles,  had  set  out  three  days  before  Avenelles  reached  the 
city  of  Blois  ;  and  such  was  the  impatient  terror  he  felt,  that 
he  would  not  rest  even  for  one  night,  till  he  had  disburdened 
himself  of  his  perilous  secret.  He  set  out  on  the  same  night 
for  Amboise  ;  and  the  courier  of  Monsieur  Marmagne  follow- 
ed him  at  a  little  distance.  The  poor  wretch  knew  that  he 
was  watched  ;  but  he  was  now  in  the  toils,  and  he  could  not 
struggle  free  without  a  greater  effort  than  he  had  strength  to 
make. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AMBOISE. 

Merriment  and  pastime  had  reigned  in  the  fine  old  city 
of  Amboise,  with  even  more  complete  sway  over  the  minds 
of  court  and  people  than  they  had  exercised  at  Blois.  Grave 
persons  had  exhibited  themselves  in  ludicrous  pageants.  Dis- 
tinguished warriors  had  played  the  part  of  buffoons.  There 
had  been  feasts  and  revelry,  and  jousts,  and  running  at  the 
ring.  All  thoughts  of  danger,  all  memory  of  the  rumored 
conspiracies  seemed  to  have  died  away  ;  and  it  was  evidently 
the  design  of  the  two  great  brothers  of  Lorraine  to  wrap  the 
young  king  of  France  in  pleasures,  and  to  withdraw  his  mind 
from  all  knowledge  of  state  affairs,  and  all  share  in  the  task 
of  government.  If  any  thing  seemed  to  cloud  the  brightness 
of  those  days,  it  was  a  certain  indefinite  anxiety  in  the  minds 
of  the  people  regarding  the  state  of  the  young  monarch's 
health.  What  it  was  that  caused  it,  no  one  could  well  tell. 
Tall,  graceful,  active,  he  appeared  in  the  courtly  circle,  so 
little  changed  from  what  he  had  been  as  a  boy,  that  no  indi- 
cation of  failing  powers  could  be  gathered  from  his  general 


20  DARK  SCENES  OF^ISTORY. 

appearance.  His  cheek  was  a  little  paler,  it  is  true,  but  not 
so  much  so  as  to  cause  any  alarm.  Then,  when  seated  beside 
his  young  queen — the  loveliest  of  the  lovely — love,  and  happi- 
ness, and  life  seemed  sparkling  in  his  eyes.  All  his  words 
were  joyous,  and  every  tone  full  of  delight.  It  is  true,  that 
when  absent  from  her,  even  when  engaged  in  the  merriest 
pastimes,  there  would  come  a  shade  of  deep  melancholy  over 
him,  an  absent  look,  a  sad  and  thoughtful  air,  passing  away 
quickly  as  soon  as  he  was  roused,  but  ay  returning  when  his 
mind  was  not  busily  occupied.  Men  interpreted  this  accord- 
ing to  their  own  thoughts.  Some  said  that  it  was  love  made 
the  cheek  pale  and  the  mind  meditative,  and  others  would 
have  it  that  he  was  weary  of  the  rule  of  the  house  of  Guise, 
that  he  sought  to  be  a  king  in  deed,  to  sway  his  own  scepter, 
and  to  rule  his  OAvn  land. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  morning,  and  noon,  and  afternoon  of  the 
fourth  day  from  the  court's  arrival  at  Amboise,  had  passed 
away  in  every  sort  of  amusement  that  could  be  devised. 
Night  fell ;  and  in  a  small  round  cabinet,  decorated  with 
every  thing  costly,  graceful,  or  luxurious,  that  art  could  sup- 
ply or  wealth  could  purchase,  sat  a  tall,  handsome,  dignified 
man,  dressed  in  a  crimson  robe,  with  a  small  square  velvet 
bonnet  on  his  head.  His  face  was  remarkably  beautiful ;  but 
there  was  a  fierce,  stern,  remorseless  expression  spread  over  it 
all,  not  to  be  fixed  down  or  limited  to  any  one  feature,  which 
affected  more  or  less  every  other  expression  as  it  passed.  All 
the  rest  were  transient ;  this  was  permanent.  It  was  like  the 
specter  of  a  diseased  imagination,  which  is  seen  through  every 
other  object  that  passes  before  the  eyes.  If  he  read,  it  was 
there.  If  he  prayed,  it  was  still  present.  If  he  discoursed, 
it  was  apparent.  If  he  laughed,  it  mingled  with  each  smile 
which  came  upon  his  hp. 

He  was  now  reading  by  the  light  of  a  thick  wax  taper ; 
and  it  would  have  seemed  that  the  thin  book  before  him 
amused  him  much,  by  the  merry  look  with  M'hich  he  read. 
The  door  opened ;  and  a  man  of  great  height,  enormous 
strength,  and  dignified  carriage  entered,  dressed  with  much 
splendor,  and  wearing  a  jeweled  collar  oi"  gold  rings  round  his 
neck.  The  cardinal  raised  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  then 
went  on  reading.  The  other  approached  him  with  a  slow 
and  stately  step,  and,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  gazed  upon 
the  lines  beneath  his  eyes.  As  he  did  so,  however,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  became  very  different  from  that 
of  the  other.     Wrath  and  indignation  were  upon  it. 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  21 

'*  This  is  too  bad,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  page.  "The 
man  must  be  discovered  and  punished." 

The  other  only  laughed  ;  and  then  there  was  a  low  knock 
at  the  door  of  the  cabinet.  Neither  of  the  two  gentlemen 
heeded  it  at  first,  but  went  on  talking  about  the  libel  which 
lay  before  them.  The  knock  was  repeated  at  the  end  of  a 
few  minutes ;  and  then  the  Duke  of  Guise,  raising  his  voice, 
bade  the  applicant  come  in. 

It  was  a  servant  who  appeared  ;  find  he  came  to  say  that 
a  man  of  the  name  of  Avenelles  had  arrived  at  the  castle,  an 
advocate  of  the  royal  court,  bearing  a  letter  from  Maitre  Mar- 
magne,  master  of  request  in  Paris,  but  on  the  letter  was  writ- 
ten "  Life  and  Death." 

''  It  is  strange,"  said  the  Duke  of  Guise,  thoughtfully,  "  how 
objects  increase  or  diminish  in  size  by  the  height  from  which, 
we  look  at  them.  My  life  for  it,  that  which  is  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  a  master  of  requests  will  seem  but  a  feather 
blown  by  the  wind  to  you  and  me.  Let  the  man  come  to- 
morrow.    We  are  busy." 

"  There  are  no  such  things  as  trifles,"  said  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine.  "  Marmagne  is  shrewd  too,  though  a  sad  glutton. 
We  had  better  attend  to  a  warning  from  such  a  hand.  Bring 
me  the  letter,  and  let  the  man  wait." 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  letter  was  in  the  hand  of  the  cardi- 
nal; and  in  a  few  minutes  more,  Avenelles  himself  was 
brought  up  the  stairs  and  sent  into  the  cabinet.  The  door 
was  closed  behind  him,  and  no  one  but  the  two  brothers 
and  himself  knew  what  passed.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  however,  the  door  was  again  opened ;  and  the  stern 
voice  of  the  Duke  of  Guise  was  heard,  exclaiming,  "  Send  up 
a  guard  I" 

The  guard  was  soon  upon  the  spot ;  and  pale,  trembling, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  terror  in  his  look,  Avenelles  was 
removed  to  a  dungeon,  cursing  his  own  cowardice,  and  feel- 
ing too  late  that  courage  is  the  best  means  of  safety. 

From  that  moment  a  strange  change  came  over  the  whole 
court  at  Amboise.  There  was  no  more  security  ;  there  were 
no  more  sports  and  pageants.  All  was  bustle,  activity,  con- 
sternation, and  no  little  confusion.  Couriers  were  sent  off  in 
every  direction.  The  Duke  of  Guise  and  the  Cardinal  of 
Lorraine  sat  up  all  night  writing  or  consulting ;  the  chan- 
cellor, Olivier,  was  called  to  their  councils ;  the  guards  were 
doubled  at  the  gates  of  the  castle  and  of  the  town,  and  at  an 
early  hour  on  the  following  morning  the  young  king  was  be- 


22  DARK   SCENES    OF   HISTORY. 

sought  to  be  present,  while  some  great  and  important  events 
were  brought  under  consideration. 

It  was  necessary  now  to  inform  him  that  his  people  were 
discontented,  that  there  was  disaffection  in  the  land  and  dan- 
ger in  the  times.  It  was  necessary,  also,  that  the  council 
should  be  made  aware  that  men  were  already  taking  arms  in 
various  parts  of  France  for  some  great  but  ill-defined  object. 
It  was  the  policy  of  the  house  of  Guise  to  prevent  that  object 
from  being  clearly  defiijed ;  and  when  the  council  met,  all 
the  rhetorical  art  of  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine  and  all  the  more 
manly  and  soldier-like  eloquence  of  the  Duke  of  Guise  were 
employed  to  prove  that  the  threatened  insurrection  was  mere- 
ly the  effort  of  a  faction  to  throw  off  legitimate  rule. 

The  truth,  however,  made  itself  felt,  though  it  was  not 
spoken.  The  council,  whose  functions  had  been  usurped  al- 
most entirely  by  the  brothers  of  Lorraine,  was  anxious  to  di- 
minish their  authority  and  re-establish  the  rule  of  law ;  and 
it  was  decided  that  messengers  should  instantly  be  sent  to  the 
princes  of  the  blood  royal  and  to  the  heads  of  the  great  house 
of  Chatillon,  requiring  their  immediate  presence  m  Amboise, 
to  afford  their  sovereign  advice  and  support. 

The  cardinal  and  the  duke  made  no  opposition,  for  their 
plans  were  already  formed ;  and  in  a  step,  intended  to  diminish 
their  influence,  they  saw  a  means  of  crushing  the  most  for- 
midable of  their  enemies.  Conde,  Coligni,  D'Andelot,  once 
within  the  walls  of  Amboise,  were  more  or  less  in  the  power 
of  the  house  of  Guise  ;  and  with  an  open  insurrection  in  the 
land,  it  was  little  to  be  doubted  that  some  pretext  would  be 
found  for  using  that  power. 

The  messengers  were  accordingly  dispatched  at  once  with- 
out a  dissenting  word  ;  but  when  the  soft,  melodious  voice  of 
the  king  was  heard  proposing  the  only  step  which  could  at 
that  moment  have  averted  strife  and  bloodshed ;  when  he 
suggested  that  it  would  be  better  for  his  princely  cousins  of 
Guise  and  Lorraine  to  retire  from  Amboise,  and  thus  allow 
him  to  judge  whether  his  people  were  disaffected  toward  his 
own  person,  or  discontented  with  their  acts,  the  brothers  saw 
that  the  whole  fabric  of  their  power  was  in  danger  ;  and  they 
treated  the  expressed  will  of  their  sovereign  with  scornful  in- 
attention. 

Conde,  Coligni,  D'Andelot,  without  hesitation  or  fear,  hur- 
ried to  Amboise ;  and  the  voice  of  the  admiral  was  boldly 
raised  against  the  oppressors  of  the  people,  demanding  toler- 
ance in  religion  and  respect  for  the  law.     A  great  part  of  the 


FRANCE—AMBOISE  ^ 

council  joined  with  him.  The  queen  mother  supported  his 
viows  from  enmity  toward  the  Duke  of  Guise.  The  chan- 
cellor eagerly  aided  the  cause  of  justice  and  reason,  and  an 
edict  was  promulgated  which  promised  very  moderate  tolera- 
tion and  the  redress  of  some  grievances.  It  was  neither  suf- 
ficiently vigorous  nor  sufficiently  timely.  The  conspirators 
were  already  in  arms.  Innumerable  bands  were  pouring  for- 
ward upon  Amboise  from  different  parts  of  France  ;  and  the 
Prince  de  Conde  had  been  followed  into  the  town  itself  by  a 
considerable  body  of  armed  attendants,  all  "  men  of  execu- 
tion'' 

The  situation  of  Guise  and  his  brother  was  perilous ;  but 
they  were  vigorous,  bold,  and  unscrupulous.  They  possessed 
the  ear  of  the  young  king,  notwithstanding  their  contempt  for 
his  authority ;  and  they  had  the  whole  military  power  of 
France  at  their  disposal.  All  that  they  wanted  was  knowl- 
edge. Avenelles  could  tell  them  little.  Torture  could  not 
wring  from  him  more  than  he  knew ;  but  he  pointed  out  one 
who  could  tell  them  more  ;  a  man  named  Linieres,  who  had 
been  three  times  with  La  Renaudie  in  Paris.  He  was  brought 
to  Amboise,  pardoned,  bribed ;  and  he  laid  before  them  the 
whole  scheme.  A  large  body,  unarmed,  was  to  enter  Am- 
boise, and  present  a  petition  to  the  king  for  full  redress.  The 
armed  bands  of  cavalry  and  infantry  were  to  surround  the 
town  on  every  side.  Certain  gates  were  to  be  seized  ;  and 
co-operation  was  to  be  provided  within  the  town  itself  The 
Duke  of  Guise  and  his  brother  were  to  be  seized,  the  Prince 
de  Conde  put  at  the  head  of  the  government ;  and  then  were 
to  follow  trials,  banishments,  and  executions,  as  might  after- 
ward be  advised.  The  routes  of  the  various  bands,  their 
places  of  rendezvous,  the  part  which  each  was  to  play,  the 
gates  which  were  to  be  seized,  the  parts  of  the  castle  garden 
that  were  to  be  attacked,  were  all  displayed  before  the  eyes 
of  the  brothers  of  Lorraine  ;  and  nothing  remained  but  vigor- 
ous and  energetic  action. 

Troops  flowed  into  Amboise  like  rivers  flowing  into  the  sea. 
The  gates  which  were  to  be  seized  were  walled  up.  The 
guards  at  the  castle  were  changed.  The  walls  were  manned 
and  strengthened.  The  garden  of  the  castle  was  secured, 
and  bodies  of  cavalry  were  sent  out  with  precise  orders  as  to 
where  and  how  they  were  to  act.  Letters  were  dispatched 
to  the  king's  lieutenants  in  various  provinces  to  disperse  and 
cut  to  pieces  any  bands  of  armed  men  not  actually  soldiers  of 
the  king,  who  were  found  traversing  the  country. 


24  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

Coligni,  D'Andelot,  Conde  saw  that  the  conspiracy  was 
discovered.  But  what  could  they  do  ?  They  were  as  pris- 
oners in  a  garrisoned  town.  Every  movement  was  watched ; 
and  armed  men  dogged  them  wherever  they  went. 

Still,  large  bodies  of  men  from  every  province  poured  on  to- 
ward Amboise.  They  were  ignorant  of  the  fatal  preparations 
made  against  them.  Intelligence  reached  them  slowly.  They 
knew  the  places  where  they  were  to  halt,  the  bands  with 
which  they  were  to  co-operate,  the  object  at  which  they  were 
to  aim,  but  they  knew  no  more.  Onward  they  came  in  de- 
tached troops,  of  various  numbers,  from  twenty  to  two  or 
three  hundred ;  and  rumors  of  their  rapid  approach  spread 
through  Amboise,  and  filled  the  court  and  the  citizens  with 
apprehension.  The  Duke  of  Guise,  however,  and  his  brother 
walked  proudly,  and  looked  calm ;  and  it  was  rumored,  that 
on  this  night  or  on  that,  a  band  of  men  at  arms  had  gone 
forth  from  one  gate  or  another  in  silence  and  in  secrecy. 
•  The  result  was  soon  seen.  Guards  of  soldiers  arrived,  drag- 
ging along  prisoners  with  their  hands  tied.  Hundreds  and 
hundreds  were  brought  in,  and  the  work  of  massacre  com- 
menced. There  was  no  investigation,  no  trial,  no  sentence. 
They  had  been  taken  in  arms — that  was  enough  ;  and  the 
cord,  and  the  bullet,  and  the  sword  did  its  work.  They  were 
hung  from  the  spouts  and  windows  of  the  castle.  They  were 
shot  in  the  open  streets.  They  were  hewn  down  in  the  mark- 
et-place. You  could  turn  nowhere  without  seeing  a  corpse. 
You  could  not  take  a  step  without  setting  your  foot  in  a  pool 
of  blood. 

Horror  and  anguish  spread  through  the  tenderer  hearts 
within  the  walls  of  Amboise.  Surely,  surely,  mercy,  if  not 
justice,  may  be  heard  I 

Lo  I  in  that  courtly  saloon  with  the  hangings  of  violet  and 
gold,  kneels  a  lovely  and  gentle  girl  at  the  feet  of  the  young 
king.  Grave  men  and  fair  women  stand  around  her,  hstening 
eagerly  to  her  eloquent  words,  while  the  tears  fall  over  her 
cheeks,  and  her  hands  are  lifted  up  in  supplication. 

It  is  a  queen  pleading  to  her  husband  for  mercy  to  his  sub- 
jects. It  is  the  beautiful  being  destined  to  fall  beneath  the 
ax  herself,  trying  to  avert  it  from  the  heads  of  others. 

She  has  succeeded.  The  edict  is  prepared,  the  king's 
name  written.  Mercy  to  all  who  lay  down  their  arms  and 
retire  peaceably  I  But  hardly  is  the  ink  dry,  hardly  has  the 
sun  set,  when  a  small  body  of  the  conspirators  is  found  in  Am- 
boise.    What  drove  them  there,  how  they  gained  admission, 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  25 

whether  the  fierceness  of  pursuit,  or  the  treacherous  conniv- 
ance of  their  enemies,  none  can  say.  But  there  they  are. 
They  are  attacked,  cut  down,  defend  themselves,  die.  The 
cry  is  raised  that  the  king's  mercy  is  despised.  The  edict  is 
revoked  ;  and  the  order  goes  forth  to  slay  without  pity.  Arm- 
ed and  unarmed  are  hunted  through  the  fields,  put  to  death, 
brought  in  as  prisoners — those  who  trusted  in  the  edict  and 
were  returning  tranquilly  to  their  homes,  as  well  as  those  who 
never  heard  of  it. 

A  few  were  permitted,  by  the  lenity  of  some  officers,  to  es- 
cape, we  are  told.  A  few  !  good  God  I  a  few  out  of  several 
hundred  thousand  men  !  The  streets  of  Amboise  were  crowd- 
ed with  captives.  Executioners  were  found  in  less  numbers 
than  victims.  The  arm  grew  weary  and  the  heart  sick  ;  but 
there  was  no  mercy  in  the  breast  of  those  who  now  command- 
ed in  Amboise.  They  had  conspired  against  the  power  of 
the  Guises,  and  they  were  traitors.  They  were  enemies,  and 
they  must  die.  They  tied  them  hand  and  foot,  and  they  hurl- 
ed them  ill  crowds  into  the  Loire.  The  river,  already  red 
with  blood,  was  now  choked  with  corpses. 

But  we  must  change  the  scene,  though  the  tragedy  is  not 
yet  over. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AMBOISE. 

Through  a  fair,  rich  country,  bright  in  the  first  smiles  of 
spring,  the  Lord  of  Castelnau  led  a  gallant  troop  of  brave  and 
honest  men.  A  number  of  the  inferior  gentlemen  of  his  neigh- 
borhood accompanied  a  leader  distinguished  in  arms,  well 
known  for  honorable  and  upright  dealing,  a  man  on  whoso 
name  there  was  no  dark  spot,  in  whose  heart  there  was  no 
guile.  Well  received  were  they  wherever  they  came.  Ev- 
ery thing  was  honorably  paid  for  which  they  took.  Order, 
discipline,  and  courtesy  marked  the  demeanor  of  all  ;  and  the 
peasantry  eagerly  sought  to  furnish  them  with  whatever  was 
needed,  and  to  forward  them  on  the  way.  On  the  morning 
of  the  third  day's  march,  however,  rumors  reached  them  of 
skirmishes  having  taken  place  here  and  there,  and  of  royal 

B 


26  DARK    SCfeNES    OF    HISTORY. 

troops  being  in  the  field.  The  Lord  of  Castelnaii's  brow  be- 
came grave,  for  he  felt  all  the  responsibility  of  his  position  ; 
and  in  the  afternoon,  just  as  he  was  mounting  his  horse,  after 
having  refreshed  his  men  at  a  village  on  the  Loire,  a  peasant 
ran  eagerly  up  to  him  and  gave  him  some  intelHgence  in  a 
whisper.  It  was  that  a  party  of  some  thirty  armed  men  had 
just  been  cut  to  pieces  by  a  body  of  the  king's  troops,  on  the 
edge  of  a  wood  some  five  miles  distant. 

Castelnau  at  once  communicated  to  those  who  accompa- 
nied him  the  tidings  he  had  received,  adding,  •'  This  shows 
the  necessity  of  being  atmed,  gentlemen ;  for,  in  such  cases, 
the  minions  of  a  court  make  few  distinctions." 

"  What  do  yott  prc^ose  to  do,  sir  ?"  demanded  one  of  hia 
companions. 

"  Go  forw^ard,"  replied  the  Lord  of  Castelnau,  with  a  look 
of  some  surprise.  "There  are  many  noble  gentlemen,  our 
friends  and  confederates,  who  rely  upon  our  co-operation.  We 
must  not  deceive  them.  We  know  our  intentions  to  be  loyal. 
We  are  a  hundred  and  fifty  stout  men  at  arms ;  and  I  my- 
self would  not  turn  back  before  double  that  number,  which  is 
more  than  the  house  of  Guise  can  send  against  us.  I  think 
you  can  trust  to  me,  gentlemen,  to  give  ivo  real  offense,  and 
not  to  take  offense  needlessly.  You  can  trust  to  me  also,  I 
hope,  to  lead  you  in  the  hour  of  danger ;  and  be  assured  I  will 
be  as  careful  of  your  honor,  your  interests,  and  your  safety,  a» 
if  you  were  my  own  children." 

They  all  exclaimed  that  they  knew  it ;  and  they  followed 
him  on  without  a  murmur  or  a  doubt.  They  had  advanced 
but  a  few  miles  further,  when,  across  the  setting  sun  on  their 
left,  they  saw  a  body  of  horse  maneuvering  as  if  to  reconnoi- 
ter  them.  It  was  not  numerous,  however,  consisting  of  some 
forty  or  fifty  men  at  the  most ;  but  the  Lord  of  Castelnau 
would  not  show  his  flank  to  an  enemy,  although  inferior,  and 
deviating  a  little  from  the  direct  road,  he  advanced  straight 
upon  the  party  he  had  seen.  His  approach  was  not  waited 
for ;  the  adverse  force  retreated  rapidly ;  and  he  pursued  his 
way  uninterrupted.  When  seated  in  the  little  village  inn  at 
night,  one  day's  march  from  Amboise,  a  messenger  was 
brought  to  him,  bearing  a  letter.  It  contained  but  few  words, 
and  was  signed  La  Renaudie.  Haste  was  evident ;  and 
Monsieur  de  Castelnau  thought  he  perceived  traces  of  strong 
anxiety.  The  letter  urged  him  to  advance  with  all  speed  to 
the  Chateau  of  Nois^,  near  Amboise,  taking  care,  however,  to 
avoid  the  town  of  Montrichard. 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  27 

"  We  are  here  in  possession  of  a  strong  point,"  said  La  Re- 
naudie  ;  "  but  the  bands  come  slowly  in.  Speed,  I  entreat 
you.     Adieu !" 

The  next  morning  early,  half  an  hour  before  sunrise,  in-r 
deed,  the  Lord  of  Castelnau  was  in  the  saddle.  To  avoid 
Montrichard  implied  a  considerable  circuit ;  but  intelligence 
had  come  in  dtiring  the  night ;  and  he  had  learned  that  the 
Duke  of  Guise  was  proclaimed  lieutenant  general  of  the  king- 
dom, and  that  a  large  body  of  his  troops  were  on  the  right 
bank  of  the  Cher.  Taking  the  road,  therefore,  by  Sublaine 
and  Blize,  he  advanced  as  fast  as  possible,  nor  met  with  any 
impediment  by  the  way.  The  country  in  that  quarter  seem- 
ed clear  of  all  enemies,  although,  at  every  village,  some  fresh 
rumor  of  moving  bands  and  fierce  skirmishes  reached  him. 
Before  night  fell,  the  town  of  Amboise,  with  its  castle  on  the 
height,  appeared  clear  against  the  evening  sky  ;  and,  guided 
by  a  lad,  who  knew  the  country  well,  the  Lord  of  Castelnau 
and  his  troop  turned  away  from  the  high  road,  just  as  dark- 
ness was  gathering  thick  around,  to  seek  the  Chateau  of  Noise. 

Situated  in  the  midst  of  woods  and  meadows,  on  a  rising 
ground  which  commanded  the  approaches  in  all  directions. 
Noise  was  well  calculated  for  either  defense  or  concealment ; 
and  the  Lord  of  Castelnau  little  doubted  that  he  would  there 
find  a  very  considerable  body  of  men  under  the  command  of 
La  Renaudie.  He  was  surprised,  however,  as  with  tired 
horses  he  advanced  slowly  through  the  woods,  to  meet  with 
no  outposts,  and  to  see  no  sign  of  military  precaution.  Be- 
yond the  walls  of  the  castle,  not  a  man  appeared  ;  and,  though 
challenged  on  his  approach  to  the  gates,  he  and  his  whole 
troop  were  admitted  instantly.  On  riding  in,  he  saw  no  cause 
to  fear  that  their  quarters  would  be  crowded.  There  might 
be  a  hundred  men  or  more  within  the  place,  but  certainly  not 
two  hundred ;  and  Castelnau  immediately  sought  a  private 
interview  with  La  Renaudie,  to  ascertain  the  exact  position 
of  affairs. 

They  stood  alone  in  a  small  room  of  one  of  the  turrets,  with 
a  single  light  between  them ;  and  Castelnau  gazed  upon  the 
other's  face  with  a  searching  look.  "  How  is  this.  La  Re- 
naudie T'  he  asked.  "  I  had  hoped  to  find  you  better  fur- 
nished with  men." 

La  Renaudie's  face  was  bold  and  confident. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said.  "  They  come  in  slowly, 
but  they  are  all  marching  on.  A  few  small  bands  have  been 
destroyed  by  some  of  the  tyrants'  parties ;  but  from  the  side 


26  DAEK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

of  Nantes  there  is  a  large  force  coming  up ;  and  a  smaller, 
but  most  serviceable  body  from  Niort,  should  have  been  here 
this  evening.  I  am  under  some  anxiety  on  account  of  the 
delay,  for  they  are  badly  furnished  with  arms,  of  which  we 
have  abundance  here  to  equip  ten  thousand  men.  If  they  do 
not  arrive  within  two  hours,  I  shall  go  out  with  a  party  to 
look  for  them.  Indeed,  I  should  have  gone  this  morning  to 
give  them  escort ;  but  I  could  not  leave  the  chateau  unde- 
fended, with  such  valuable  stores  within." 

Castelnau  mused.  "  Better  go  at  once,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  We  must  endeavor  to  collect  a  larger  force  at  some  one  point, 
otherwise  we  may  be  cut  to  pieces  in  detail,  and  never  have 
an  opportunity  of  presenting  the  petition  at  all." 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  La  Renaudie's  face  at  the  word 
petition ;  but  he  took  no  other  notice  of  it,  and  would  insist 
on  seeing  to  the  refreshment  of  Monsieur  de  Castelnau  and 
his  troop.  His  hospitality  had  a  tendency  to  deviate  into 
revelry  ;  but  Castelnau  was  uneasy  :  no  fresh  band  arrived ; 
and  he  twice  put  La  Renaudie  in  mind  of  his  purpose  before 
the  other  would  act  upon  it. 

At  length,  however,  the  latter  gathered  together  almost  all 
the  men  who  had  been  in  the  chateau  when  Castelnau  ar- 
rived, and  set  out,  with  horses  fresh  and  full  of  fire  from  two 
days'  inactivity,  leaving  the  chateau,  and  all  that  it  contained, 
in  charge  of  the  Lord  of  Castelnau.  The  whole  night  went 
by  without  any  tidings  of  his  progress,  and  the  whole  of  the 
following  day.  Castehiau  sent  out  some  small  parties  to  make 
inquiries ;  but  nothing  could  be  heard  of  La  Renaudie  and 
his  band. 

Would  the  reader  desire  to  know  what  became  of  them  ? 
It  is  easily  told.  Gayly,  and  at  a  quick  pace,  undismayed  by 
any  dangers,  and  persisting  against  every  loss.  La  Renaudie 
marched  on  for  several  leagues  during  the  darkness  of  the 
night.  Just  as  morning  dawned,  he  halted  his  troop  at  a 
small  village,  and  refreshed  the  men  and  horses.  No  news 
had  been  heard  of  the  people  from  Niort ;  but,  while  they 
were  at  the  village,  a  small  party,  consisting  of  three  or  four 
men  on  horseback,  was  seen  on  the  acclivity  of  a  hill  to  the 
right.  The  insurgent  immediately  sent  out  to  ascertain  who 
or  what  they  were  ;  but  they  instantly  retired ;  and,  after  a 
short  pause,  La  Renaudie  recommenced  his  march.  He  had 
not  gone  three  miles,  however,  and  was  just  entering  a  piece 
of  meadow  ground,  watered  by  a  rivulet,  with  a  somber  wood 
on  the  left,  and  a  bed  of  osiers  on  the  right,  when  he  saw 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  29 

straight  before  him,  coming  round  the  angle  of  the  wood,  a 
body  of  the  royal  men-at-arms,  nearly  double  his  own  party 
in  number.  At  their  head  there  was  a  flag,  or  guidon,  as  it 
was  then  called,  which  he  knew  right  well,  and  a  figure  which 
was  equally  familiar  to  him :  that  of  his  own  cousin,  Par- 
daillon. 

La  Renaudie  was  a  man  of  no  hesitation.  "  Upon  them !" 
he  cried,  turning  to  his  men,  and  drawing  his  sword,  for  lance 
he  had  none  at  that  moment ;  "  upon  them !  We  shall  have 
them  a  cheap  bargain  in  their  disarray." 

On  he  dashed  without  hesitation,  and  without  any  further 
preparation.  It  was  his  cousin  whom  he  himself  charged  ; 
and,  spurring  forward  upon  him  with  fieiy  haste  and  remorse- 
less resolution,  he  sle-vV"  him  with  his  own  hand  at  the  very 
head  of  his  troop.  He  was  followed  close  by  his  companions, 
and  the  fight  in  an  instant  was  fierce  and  general.  But  it 
lasted  not  long. 

There  was  a  young  page,  a  boy  not  seventeen  years  old, 
who  had  ridden  immediately  behind  Monsieur  de  Pardaillon, 
He  saw  his  lord  fall ;  he  saw  him  writhe  for  a  moment,  and 
then  lie  still  and  heavy  on  the  ground.  The  page  had  a  pe- 
tronel  in  his  hand.  He  struck  his  spurs  deep  into  his  horse's 
flank,  brought  the  mouth  of  the  weapon  close  to  La  Renau- 
die's  head,  and  fired. 

Through  the  steel  cap,  through  the  skull  and  brains,  the 
ball  tore  its  way ;  and  La  Renaudie  fell  headlong  from  the 
saddle.  No  word  had  passed  between  him  and  his  cousin,  no 
word  between  the  page  and  him.  Pardaillon  and  La  Re- 
naudie lay  dead,  side  by  side ;  and  the  insurgents  were  cut 
down  almost  to  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

AMBOISE. 

Heaven  and  earth  were  weary  of  witnessing  bloodshed. 
The  citizens  of  Amboise  murmured  aloud.  The  most  faith- 
ful of  the  king's  subjects  and  servants  expressed  their  disgust ; 
and  the  Chancellor  Olivier  moved  about  the  castle  with  the 
look  of  a  specter,  and  an  eye  full  of  horror  and  dismay.     None 


30  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

rejoiced  but  the  house  of  Guise  and  its  partisans.  With  them, 
every  head  that  fell  was  the  head  of  an  enemy.  The  fabric 
of  their  power  seemed  built  up  by  the  corpses  of  the  slain,  and 
cemented  by  the  blood  that  was  shed. 

But  yet  their  situation  M^as  not  without  its  danger.  Mul- 
titudes were  still  pressing  forward  from  distant  parts  of  France 
toward  the  town  of  Araboise.  The  royal  troops  had  not 
escaped  without  suffering  severe  loss.  The  Castle  of  Noisie 
was  strong  ;  and  it  was  known  to  contain  resolute  men,  a 
vast  store  of  arms,  and  abundance  of  provisions.  It  was  a 
rallying  pohit  for  the  disaffected  :  a  point  of  peril. 

Such  was  the  situation  when  the  body  of  LaRenaudie  was 
brought  into  the  town  and  hanged  over  the  center  arch  of  the 
bridge,  with  the  words  "  Chief  of  the  Rebels"  written  on  the 
breast.  At  the  same  time,  however,  intelligence  was  received 
that  a  body  of  nearly  two  thousand  men,  most  of  whom  had 
seen  service,  was  within  two  days'  march  of  Amboise,  and  was 
directing  its  course  straight  toward  Noise.  Multitudes  of  other 
parties  were  scattered  abroad  over  the  land  ready  to  unite  with 
any  larger  force  under  lany  distinguished  leader.  It  was,  per- 
haps, the  moment  of  the  greatest  danger  ;  and  the  duke  and 
the  cardinal  consulted  eagerly  without  witnesses.-  Then  the 
chancellor  was  sent  for,  and  then  the  Lord  of  Vielleville,  an 
old  and  experienced  soldier,  a  shrewd  and  clear-sighted  poli- 
tician, a  steady  Catholic,  but  one  who  stood  detached  from 
party,  too  reasonable  to  be  a  zealot,  too  independent  to  be  a 
tool.  They  proposed  to  him  to  take  a  small  body  of  hor?c, 
which  was  aU  that  could  be  spared  from  Amboise  at  a  time 
when  such  numerous  parties  were  scouring  the  country,  and, 
going  to  Noise,  endeavor  to  induce  the  Lord  of  Castelnau  and 
his  companions  to  lay  down  their  arms,  and  come  to  present 
their  petition  to  the  king  peaceably,  upon  promise  of  safety  and 
free  access.  Vielleville  looked  toward  the  chancellor,  whose 
eyes  were  still  bent  down  upon  the  papers  before  him ;  and  then 
the  old  soldier  boldly  declined  the  task,  not  well  assured  that 
his  plighted  word,  if  given,  would  be  respected.* 

A  long  consultation  ensued  ;  and  then  James  of  Savoy, 
duke  of  Nemours,  was  sent  for.  The  gay  and  gallant  prince, 
bold,  rash,  and  straight- forward,  undertook  the  commission 
readily,  glad  to  terminate  by  an  act  of  grace,  as  he  imagined, 
a  scene  of  civil  strife,  especially  Avhen  the  person  to  whom  he 
was  sent  was  an  old  and  valued  friend,  the  Lord  of  Castelnau. 

*  "  Knowing  the  felony  of  the  two  brothers,"  say  the  Memoirs  of 
VielleviUe. 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  31 

He  was  soon  at  the  head  of  his  men-at-arms  and  upon  the 
way.  The  distance  was  short,  not  much  more  than  a  league 
and  a  half;  and  he  approached  the  Chateau  of  Noise  just  as 
the  setting  sun,  within  a  palm's  breadth  of  the  horizon,  filled 
the  whole  western  sky  with  rosy  light.  He  found  the  chateau 
prepared  for  vigorous  defense  ;  and  ridmg  on  alone,  before  the 
head  of  his  troop,  he  asked  the  sentry  at  the  barbican  to  be 
permitted  to  speak  with  his  friend,  the  Lord  of  Castehiau.  In 
a  few  minutes  Castclnau  appeared  above  the  gate ;  and  Ne- 
mours waved  his  hand  to  him  with  a  cheerful  air,  saying, 
"  How  is  it,  my  noble  friend,  that  I  find  you  here  in  arms 
aigainst  your  king  ?  I  could  have  believed  it  of  any  man  but 
you." 

"  I  am  not  in  arms  against  my  king,"  replied  Castelnau. 
"  We  come  but  to  present  to  his  majesty  our  humble  remon- 
strances against  the  tyranny  of  the  house  of  Guise." 

"  Is  it  thus,  with  weapons  in  their  hands,"  demanded  the 
duke,  "  that  the  people  of  France  should  express  their  wishes 
to  their  monarch  ?  If  you  wiU  lay  down  your  arms,  I  promise 
you,  upon  my  faith  and  honor,  to  take  you  at  once  to  the  pres- 
ence of  the  king,  and  to  bring  you  back  in  safety." 

"  I  have  companions  wdthin,  whom  I  must  consult,"  replied 
Castelnau.  "  Though  I  myself  would  trust  implicitly  to  your 
word,  they  may  be  more  careful." 

"  Let  me  come  in  and  reason  with  them,"  replied  Nemours. 
"  They  shall  have  full  assurance." 

He  was  admitted,  with  ten  companions.  He  repeated  the 
offer  he  had  made.  He  plighted  his  honor  and  his  faith  to  the 
safety  of  those  who  would  trust  themselves  with  him,  and  he 
signed  the  engagement  wdth  his  hand.  The  Lord  of  Castel- 
nau and  fourteen  of  his  friends  mounted  their  horses  in  the 
court-yard,  and,  with  a  feeling  of  perfect  security,  rode  away 
with  Nemours  at  the  head  of  his  troop. 

In  the  gray  twilight  they  reached  the  gates  of  Amboise, 
which  opened  at  the  approach  of  the  duke.  They  rode  through 
the  street  to  the  castle,  and  dismounted  at  the  great  entrance. 
But  there  had  been  people  who  had  met  the  cavalcade  at  the 
gates  of  the  town,  and  had  run  on  before,  to  notify  the  com- 
"og  of  the  Lord  of  Castelnau. 

Side  by  side  with  his  friend,  the  Duke  of  Nemours  mounted 
the  stone  stair-case,  and  at  the  first  ante-room  left  him  to  an- 
nounce his  arrival,  and  to  ask  an  audience  of  the  king.  But 
the  door  was  not  yet  closed  behind  him,  when  a  body  of 
armed  men  entered  the  chamber,  and  a  tall  Gascon  laid  his 


as  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

hand  on  Castelnau's  shoulder,  saying,  "  I  arrest  you  for  high 


treason  I 

Castelnau  raised  his  voice  and  pronounced  the  name  of 
Nemours.  The  duke  heard  it  in  the  passage,  and  turned 
back ;  but  when  he  came  the  room  was  vacant,  and  Castelnau 
slept  in  a  dungeon.  The  Chateau  of  Amboise  showed  a  scene 
of  great  confusion  and  dismay  during  the  whole  of  that  even- 
ing. Fury  and  indignation  took  possession  of  the  Duke  of 
Nemours.  He  had  been  made  the  base  tool  of  a  shameless 
conspiracy  to  betray  his  jfriend,  a  brave  man,  a  distinguished 
soldier^  an  old  and  honorable  servant  of  the  crown,  into  the 
hands  of  merciless  enemies.  He  argued,  he  remonstrated,  he 
petitioned  in  vain.  Men  pitied  him,  but  dared  not  speak ;  but 
women's  hearts  and  sympathies  went  with  him  warmly,  and 
they  are  ever  more  bold  in  a  noble  cause. 

Again  Mary  Stuart  knelt  at  her  husband's  feet.  Even  the 
monarch's  ruthless  mother  interceded ;  but  Mary  knelt,  and 
Catharine  pleaded  in  vain.  Guise  and  the  cardinal  stood  by 
the  king's  side,  and  Francis  felt  that  he  was  but  a  cipher  in 
their  hands. 

On  their  faces  alone  was  the  look  of  satisfacticm ;  the  calm, 
half-contemptuous  smile,  which  told  that  the  day  was  won  and 
its  dangers  extinguished.  But  though  peril  was  over,  they 
were  not  men  to  spare ;  and  they  spared  not.  Torture  pre* 
ceded  trial,  but  from  the  lips  of  Castelnau  it  wrung  nothing ; 
and  then  came  the  condemnation  and  the  preparation  for  death. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AMBOISE. 

It  was  a  clear  March  morning,  with  the  wind  somewhat 
high,  but  soft.  One  felt  in  it  the  breath  of  April.  There 
was  a  great  crowd  in  the  market-place  of  Amboise,  for  the 
people  had  not  seen  an  execution  for  five  days,  and  that  was 
a  long  period  then.  There  was  a  scaffold  in  the  midst  of  the 
market-place,  and  a  number  of  the  high  dignitaries  of  the 
court  were  present ;  for  the  house  of  Guise  had  determined 
that  this  last  act  of  vengeance  should  be  accompanied  by  all 
forni  and  ceremony.     Men  in  arms  surrounded  the  scaffold  on 


FRANCE— AMBOISE.  39 

all  sides.  The  bare-armed  executioner  stood  leaning  on  his 
heavy  ax.  Two  pale  and  trembling  priests  were  there,  and 
in  the  front  three  gentlemen  of  noble  mien,  bareheaded.  They 
spoke  together,  and  embrace4  ;  and  the  Lord  of  Castelnau  re- 
plied to  some  words  which  one  of  his  friends  whispered  in  his 
ear,  ^, 

"  No  :  I  will  be  the  last.  I  have  seen  brave  men  die,  and 
know  how  to  meet  death  too  ;  but  I  have  got  a  task  to  per- 
form which  must  be  done,  my  friend,  when  you  are  in  heaven." 

The  gentleman  to  whom  he  spoke  then  turned  to  the  block, 
threw  off  his  doublet,  and  laid  down  his  head.  To  the  peo- 
ple he  spoke  no  word,  and  to  the  executioner  only  said, 

"  Strike  boldly  I" 

The  ax  fell ;  the  dark  blood  spouted  forth ;  and  with  an 
eye  that  did  not  wink,  and  his  arms  folded  on  his  chest,  the 
Lord  of  Castelnau  gazed  sternly  on  the  murder  of  his  friend. 

Another  followed  ;  and  the  same  tragedy  was  again  enact- 
ed. But  then  Castelnau  strode  forward,  and,  turning  to  the 
people,  exclaimed  aloud, 

"  In  the  face  of  earth  and  heaven,  I  proclaim  James,  duke 
of  Nemours,  and  all  who  have  abetted  him  in  the  death  of 
tliese  true  and  noble  gentlemen,  traitors,  false,  perjured,  and 
man-sworn  I" 

Then  striding  to  the  block,  he  dipped  his  hands  in  the  warm 
blood,  and  raised  them  up  to  heaven.  "  God  Almighty,"  he 
said,  "  seer  of  all  hearts,  thou  to  whom  vengeance  alone  be- 
longs, witness  the  deeds  done  this  day,  and  deal  according  to 
thy  wisdom  on  our  base  betrayers.  Give  them  measure  for 
measure,  and  may  this  blood  of  thy  servants  not  reek  up  to 
heaven  in  vain !" 

He  laid  his  head  upon  the  block,  and  in  another  moment 
it  rolled  in  the  dust. 

There  is  a  man  in  a  black  robe,  a  man  of  mild  and  vener- 
able aspect,  who  turns  away  from  that  frightful  scene  with  a 
pale  cheek,  a  quivering  lip,  and  a  haggard  eye.  Officers  and 
staff  bearers  precede  him ;  and  several  servants  and  attend- 
ants follow.  He  calls  one  of  them  to  him,  and  leans  upon  the 
man's  shoulder  ;  for  his  limbs  are  seized  with  trembling,  as  if 
a  palsy  had  struck  him,  and  will  not  bear  him  up.  Let  us 
follow  him  to  his  chamber  in  that  high  castle.  He  has  lain 
him  down  upon  his  bed  to  die.  In  vain  the  surgeons  and 
physicians  crowd  around  him.  In  vain  priests  pour  words 
into  his  car.  All  the  medicines  of  the  pharmacy  can  bring 
no  cure.     All  the  eloquence  of  the  priests  can  afford  no  con- 

B  2 


81  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

solation  to  the  smitten,  heart-broken  chancellor.  The  news 
that  he  is  sick,  that  he  is  dying,  spreads  through  the  castle, 
and  reaches  the  ears  of  the  Cardinal  of  Lorraine. 

*'  I  will  go  and  visit  him,"  said  the  scarlet  sin ;  and  he  went. 
He  approached  with  a  grave  and  sympathizing  air,  and  a  slow, 
light  step ;  but  the  Chancellor  Olivier,  as  soon  as  he  beheld 
him,  like  the  despairing  King  of  Israel,  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall,  and  would  not  look  on  him.  In  mild  and  honeyed  ac- 
cents the  cardinal  spoke  to  him  for  some  ten  minutes  ;  but  he 
obtained  no  answer,  and  murmuring  to  himself,  "  He  is  speech- 
less, raethinks,"  Lorraine  rose  from  the  bedside,  and  walked 
away. 

His  retreating  steps  caught  the  ear  of  the  dying  man  ;  and 
he  turned  his  head  round,  with  a  look  of  fear  and  horror.  Ho 
saw  that  he  was  gone ;  and  then  he  said,  aloud, 

"  Ah  I  cursed  cardinal,  thou  hast  damned  thyself,  and  made 
us  also  condemn  ourselves  to  all  eternity !" 

At  the  end  of  two  days  more,  they  bore  a  corpse  from  that 
same  chamber,  with  unavailing  honors,  to  the  chapel  of  the 
castle;  and  thus  ended  the  tragedy  of  Amboise.=^ 

*  All  the  facts  stated  in  this  paper  on  Amboise  will  be  found  in  the 
memoirs  of  Vielleville,  or  those  of  Castelnau  Mauvissierre,  with  some 
few  particulars  from  Aubiguy,  Belleforest,  and  other  cotemporary,  or 
nearly  cotemporary  writers. 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 


ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER  I. 

ARTHUR. 

Summer  and  sunshine,  bright  skies,  rich  fields,  and  fair  scen- 
ery were  all  around.  Pennons  and  banners  were  fluttering 
in  the  air.  The  Epte  and  the  St.  Aubin  were  glittering  on 
toward  their  confluence.  Thousands  of  horse  and  foot  cov- 
ered the  hilly  ground  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  with  their 
bright  arms  and  their  gay  dresses  sparkling  beneath  the  un- 
clouded sun.  There  was  laughter  and  merriment  too,  and 
many  a  gay  exclamation.  It  seemed  no  fierce,  warlike  expe- 
dition, but  a  great  meeting  of  princes,  knights,  and  soldiers 
upon  some  high  festival. 

Such  was  the  scene  on  one  side  ;  but  on  the  other  the  case 
was  very  difierent.  On  the  grounds  below  that  joyous  party, 
and  on  the  other  bank  of  the  stream,  crowds  were  seen  flying 
in  terror  and  confusion  from  tlie  wide-open  gates  of  the  town 
of  Gournay  ;  women  carrying  children  in  their  arms,  or  drag- 
ging them  along  in  haste  by  tlie  hand  ;  rich  citizens  and  poor 
artizans  running  fast  from  the  town,  loaded  with  their  most 
valuable  efleets ;  knights  and  soldiers  galloping  away  as  speed- 
ily as  their  horses  could  carry  them  ;  and  yet  no  signs  of  war 
or  strife,  except  the  pennons  and  the  banners ;  no  couched 
lance,  no  drawn  bow,  no  sword  waving  in  the  air. 

What  had  become  of  the  walls  of  Gournay,  deemed  almost 
impregnable  ?  Where  were  the  battlements  lately  glittering 
with  arms,  and  lined  with  strong  defenders  ?  They  lay  in 
ruins  all  along  the  lower  part  of  the  town,  without  any  mili- 
tary engine  having  been  brought  against  them,  without  hav- 
ing been  struck  by  catapult  or  mangonel.  The  dike  which 
sustained  the  waters  of  the  artificial  lake  above  the  city  had 
been  cut  by  orders  of  the  shrewd  and  artful  King  of  France  ; 
and  the  deluge  had  swept  all  before  it.  Walls,  and  forts,  and 
houses  had  given  way.  The  jneadows  had  become  a  sea,  and 
every  street  a  river. 


36  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

And  there  he  sat  upon  his  proud  black  horsb,  Phihp  of 
France,  smiling  at  the  easy  destruction  he  had  wrought.  Im- 
pregnable Gournay  was  taken  in  a  day  ;  and  the  first  triumph 
of  many  was  accomplished. 

-  By  his  side,  mounted  on  a  beautiful  white  barb,  and  glitter- 
ing in  undented  arms,  was  a  fair  lad  some  sixteen  years  of  age. 
His  face  was  gentle  and  mild  in  its  expression,  but  his  eyes 
full  of  fire  and  intelligence  ;  and  as,  with  the  beaver  of  his 
helmet  up,  he  gazed  at  the  scene  of  devastation,  he  laughed 
not  with  the  war-hardened  soldiers  around ;  he  smiled  not  with 
the  remorseless  politician  by  his  side. 

"  Poor  people,"  he  said,  "I  fear  many  must  perish." 

Philip  answered  not,  but  merely  pointed  with  the  finger  of 
his  gauntleted  hand  to  the  standard  that  waved  above  his 
head.  He  might  mean  that  it  must  so  wave  over  many  such 
a  scene  of  destruction  before  the  thirst  of  his  ambition  was  sated. 

Six  hours  passed,  and  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  sky  ;  the 
waters  had  abated ;  the  streets  were  clear  ;  the  town  and  its 
castle,  no  longer  defensible,  had  sent  out  to  seek  mercy  and 
make  submission ;  and  with  floating  bamiers  and  ringing 
clarions,  Philip  of  France,  and  Arthur  of  Brittany,  the  right- 
ful King  of  England  if  there  was  force  in  feudal  law,  rode  into 
Gournay,  and  ascended  toward  the  castle.  At  the  gates  stood 
an  old  laiight,  bareheaded,  with  the  keys  in  his  hand ;  and, 
as  Philip  took  them,  he  turned  to  his  young  companion  with 
a  fatherly  smile,  saying, 

"  Here,  in  our  first  town  taken,  will  I  dub  thee  knight, 
dear  boy,  and  may  this  be  an  augury  to  you  and  me  of  the 
recovery  of  all  your  dominions,  while  your  union  with  my 
daughter  shall  prove  an  indissoluble  bond  between  the  crowns 
of  France  and  England." 

Philip  kept  his  word  ;  and  on  the  morning  of  the  following 
day,  in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  Arthur  of  Brittany  knelt  at 
the  great  monarch's  feet,  while  he  struck  him  on  the  shoulder 
with  his  sword,  exclaiming,  "  In  the  name  of  God,  St.  Mi- 
chael, and  St.  George,  I  dub  thee  knight.  Be  faithful,  true, 
and  valiant  I" 

He  then  threw  over  his  shoulder  a  glittering  scarf  Fair 
hands  fixed  the  spurs  upon  his  heels,  and  girt  him  with  the 
knightly  sword,  while  a  page  brought  forward  the  glittering 
casque,  on  which  appeared  the  humble  badge  of  the  proud 
Plantagenets,  the  branch  of  broom  supported  by  the  tradi- 
tional crest  of  the  fabulous  King  Arthur,  the  lion,  the  unicorn, 
and  the  griffin,  wrought  in  massy  gold. 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR.  37 

Round  about  stood  a  crowd  of  the  highest  nobles  andmos* 
distinguished  knights  of  the  land,  with  many  a  lord  of  Brit 
tany,  Poitou,  and  Maine. 

One  by  one,  the  vassals  of  the  crown  of  England  came  for 
ward  to  do  homage  to  the  young  prince ;  and  Philip,  seating 
him  in  his  own  chair,  stood  by  his  side  to  sanction  and  wit 
ness  the  oath. 

"  I,  Hugo  le  Brun,  lord  of  Lusignan,  count  of  La  Marche, 
do  liege  homage  to  you,  Arthur  Plantagenet,  my  born  lord 
and  suzerain,  for  all  the  lands  I  hold  or  ought  to  hold  of  you, 
save  always,  and  except  the  rights  of  our  Lord  Philip,  king 
of  France,  his  heirs  and  successors.  I  will  yield  you  honora- 
ble service.  I  will  ransom  you  in  captivity.  I  will  offer  no 
evil  to  your  wife  or  to  your  daughter,  in  your  house  dwelling, 
and  to  this  I  plight  my  faith  as  your  true  vassal  and  liege-man." 

Similar  was  the  oath  of  each ;  and  Arthur,  rising,  took 
them,  one  by  one  as  they  did  homage,  by  the  hand,  and  gave 
them  the  kiss  of  peace. 

The  ceremony  was  over  and  the  banquet  followed ;  but, 
while  lords  and  princes  feasted,  there  was  busy  preparation 
going  on ;  for  it  was  needful  that  the  young  knight  should 
win  renown  in  arms ;  and  he  was  going  forth,  aided  by  the 
chivalry  of  Prance,  to  strive  for  the  conquest  of  the  territory 
of  his  fathers.  It  was  well  known  that  a  multitude  of  the 
vassals  of  the  crown  of  England,  disgusted  with  a  prince  with- 
out vigor  or  conduct,  without  honor  or  feehng,  who  had  been 
a  traitor  to  his  brother  and  his  friend,  who  was  an  oppressor 
of  his  vassals  and  his  people,  would  rise  in  behalf  of  the  young, 
amiable,  and  accomplished  heir  of  Geoffrey  Plantagenet ;  and 
all  that  was  wanted  was  money  and  men,  to  begin  the  strug- 
gle, which  was  certain  to  bring  into  its  vortex  every  one  who 
could  draw  a  sword  on  either  side.  The  money  was  suppUed 
by  Philip.  Two  hundred  knights,  and  several  bands  of  arch- 
ers were  added ;  and  with  high  hopes,  a  gallant  train,  and 
every  prospect  of  success,  Arthur  of  Brittany  set  out  for  the 
banks  of  the  Loire,  to  meet  with  a  short  gleam  of  triumph, 
and  then  reverse,  captivity,  and  death. 


38  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY 


CHAPTER  11. 

ARTHUR. 

As  if  on  a  gay  party  of  pleasure,  the  new-made  knight  and 
his  followers  rode  on  li:om  Gournay  to  Poissy,  from  Poissy  to 
Chartres,  from  Chartres  to  Blois,  from  Blois  to  Tours.  The 
merry  sunshine  of  the  mid-year  was  upon  them,  some  of  the 
brightest  lands  of  France  around  ;  and  on  the  pleasant  banks 
of  the  Loire,  they  seemed  to  drink  in  from  the  face  of  nature 
the  inspiration  to  great  deeds.  At  Tours,  a  general  rendez- 
vous had  been  given  to  all  on  whose  support  the  young  prince 
fancied  he  could  count ;  but  execution  is  ever  slow  by  the 
side  of  expectation ;  and  day  by  day  went  by  without  any 
great  accession  to  his  numbers.  Hugh  le  Brun,  who  had  left 
him  to  levy  more  men,  rejoined  him,  it  is  true,  on  the  first 
day  after  his  arrival  at  Tours,  with  fifteen  knights ;  and  on 
the  following  day,  Raoul  of  Issoudun,  with  forty  knights.  Will- 
iam of  Mauleon  came  with  thirty,  and  with  seventy  men-at- 
arms  ;  and  Geofirey  de  Lusignan  brought  in  a  force  nearly 
equal.  But  still  the  number  was  small  compared  with  that 
of  John  Lackland,  who  was  at  the  head  of  nearly  twenty 
thousand  mercenaries. 

But  then  he  was  afar,  at  least  so  rumor  said ;  and  distant 
dangers  are  seldom  heeded  by  youth.  Arthur  was  eager  to 
win,  and  those  who  were  with  him  were  not  men  backward 
in  confidence.  Filled  with  the  rash,  gay,  boasting  spirit  of 
the  south,  they  had  also  many  a  high  deed  done  in  the  past, 
and  many  a  memory  of  success,  to  cheer  them  onward  to  im- 
mediate enterprise.  All,  all  cried  aloud  for  action  ;  and  the 
only  question  was,  which  way  should  their  steps  be  directed  ? 

It  was  soon  decided.  The  Castle  of  Mirebeau  was  near  at 
hand  ;  and  in  it  Eleanor  of  Aquitaine,  the  mother  of  John, 
the  grandmother  of  Arthur,  the  great  supporter  of  the  former, 
the  pertinacious  enemy  of  the  latter,  was  said  to  make  her 
abode,  and  to  have  stored  up  both  gold  and  arms.  It  was 
resolved  that  Mirebeau  should  be  attacked ;  and  thither,  on 
a  bright  day  of  August,  marched  the  princely  boy  in  the  fresh- 
noM  of  his  chivalry. 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR,  39 

The  walls  were  strong  and  high.  There  were  gallant  de- 
fenders within  ;  and  the  resistance  was  vigorous,  but  not  long. 
Each  knight  of  Poitou  was  eager  to  distinguish  himself  in  the 
cause  of  his  newly-acknowledged  sovereign,  and  Arthur  him- 
self to  win  honor  to  his  arms. 

This  is  not  a  book  of  sieges  and  battles.  The  walls  were 
won,  the  city  gained ;  and  the  glad  prince  saw  his  first  effort 
crowned  with  success.  The  castle  still  held  out ;  but  there 
was  every  hope  of  soon  overcoming  its  resistance.  Nothing 
was  heard  but  the  gay  voice  of  triumph  ;  and  the  pleasure- 
loving  lords  of  Poitou  gave  themselves  up  to  feasting  and  to 
revelry.  Arthur  rejoiced  too.  He  had  none  with  him  to 
supply  the  forethought  which  youth  wanted.  He  had  gal- 
lant men,  good  soldiers,  skillful  officers,  but  none  of  those  ex- 
perienced, gray-headed  men,  who  found  one  success  upon  an- 
other. 

They  wasted  their  time  beneath  the  walls  of  the  castle, 
skirmishing  with  the  garrison  by  day,  feasting  and  singing  by 
night.  It  was  what  Eleanor  desired.  At  the  first  sound  of 
danger  she  had  dispatched  messengers  to  her  son,  calling  for 
immediate  aid ;  and  John  showed  himself  for  once  prompt, 
energetic,  and  bold.  By  long,  forced  marches,  he  crossed  the 
country  at  the  head  of  a  large  force,  taking  means  to  conceal 
his  approach  as  far  as  possible.  At  some  distance  from  Mire- 
beau  he  halted  his  troops,  in  order  to  take  his  nephew  by  sur- 
prise. Success  attended  him,  for  early  in  the  morning,  before 
the  barons  of  Poitou  were  prepared  for  resistance,  John  was 
upon  them.  A  small  party,  who  either  slept  without  the 
town,  or  went  out  at  the  first  intelligence  of  an  enemy's  ap- 
proach, fought  gallantly,  and  delayed  for  a  moment  the  final 
catastrophe  ;  but,  overwhelmed  by  numbers,  they  were  driven 
back  into  the  town,  and  John  entered  Mirebeau  along  with 
them.  The  resistance  in  the  streets  was  not  long  ;  and  those 
who  had  been  conquerors  but  a  few  days  before,  were  now 
either  corpses  on  the  field,  or  prisoners  in  the  hands  of  a  mer- 
ciless tyrant.  Though  so  often  pardoned,  John  never  learned 
to  spare.  The  prisoners  were  sent  to  various  difierent  for- 
tresses, loaded  with  chains,  subject  to  every  sort  of  indignity 
and  cruelty,  to  linger  out  existence  in  misery,  or  to  perish  by 
privation.  Two-and-twenty  noble  gentlemen  of  Poitou,  An- 
jou,  and  Maine,  for  following  the  standard  of  their  natural 
prince,  were  carried  hke  the  basest  criminals  to  a  dungeon  in 
Corfe  Castle,  and  actually  starved  to  death. 

Another  fate  awaited  Arthur,  who,  while  his  sister,  the  lily 


40  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

of  Bretagne,  was  sent  to  England,  to  wither  for  forty  years  in 
hopeless  imprisonment,  was  conveyed  to  the  Chateau  Falaise, 
and  kept  a  strict  prisoner  within  its  walls.  There  he  had  the 
pain  of  hearing  that  not  one  stroke  was  struck  for  his  deUver- 
ance  by  him  who  had  so  lately  bestowed  knighthood  upon 
him ;  that,  so  far  from  it,  Philip,  as  if  struck  with  sudden 
fear  at  the  disastrous  day  of  Mirebeau,  had  raised  the  siege 
of  Arques,  and  retired  with  his  army  in  confusion  to  Paris. 

Did  the  poor  boy's  heart  give  way  ?  Did  hope  yield  to  de- 
spair ?  Did  his  courage  and  his  firmness  abandon  him  in  the 
moment  of  disappointment  and  regret  ?  Far  from  it.  The 
spirit  of  his  race  was  in  him.  The  unconquerable  soul  of  his 
great  uncle  of  the  lion  heart  he  had  inherited,  though  not  his 
dominions  or  his  success ;  and  he  sat  in  his  lonely  chamber, 
in  the  high  tower  of  Falaise,  dreaming  still  of  empire. 

An  autumn  day  was  drawing  to  the  close,  and  there  were 
sounds  of  bustle  and  movement  in  Falaise.  Clarions  had  been 
Bounding  :  horses  had  been  neighing  and  trampling  below  the 
tower  ;  and  voices  speaking,  and  the  sound  of  many  feet  had 
risen  up  to  the  lonely  chamber.  The  door  opened  ;  and  the 
graceful  form,  smooth,  deceitful  countenance,  and  cold,  soul- 
less eye  of  John,  his  uncle  and  his  captor,  were  before  Arthur 
of  Brittany. 

The  boy  rose ;  and  his  face  grew  pale  and  then  red  ;  and 
the  two  gazed  at  each  other  lor  an  instant  in  silence.  A 
frown  gathered  upon  John's  face  ;  but  it  passed  away  instant- 
ly, and  he  took  a  seat,  with  a  soft  and  smiling  air.  Arthur 
seated  himself  too  ;  and  the  king  began,  with  his  sweet  tones 
and  his  easy  eloquence. 

"  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come  to  reason  with  you,  anx- 
ious to  treat  you  •with,  kindness  rather  than  with  harshness. 
I  am  your  uncle,  your  nearest  and  dearest  friend,  your  liege 
sovereign,  your  well-wisher.  You  have  aUied  yourself  with 
the  French  king,  the  long-persisting  enemy  of  your  uncle  Rich- 
ard, my  persevering  foe,  the  hereditary  adversary  of  the  En- 
glish crown.  He  has  used  you,  and  only  seeks  to  use  you,  for 
his  own  purposes.  He  desires  merely  to  encourage  hostilities 
between  the  uncle  and  nephew,  to  take  advantage  of  their  dis- 
sensions for  the  advancement  of  his  own  ambitious  schemes, 
and  for  the  injury  of  both." 

There  was  some  truth  in  wtiat  he  said — truth  from  lips 
which  seldom  spoke  it  —  and  Arthur  meditated  in  silence. 
He  recollected  how  inefficient  had  been  the  succor  afforded 
him  by  Philip,  how  readily  he  had  been  abandoned  in  th« 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR.  41 

hour  of  need.  •'  Why  am  I  in  Falaise,"  he  thought,  "if  the 
great  King  of  France,  with  all  his  unlimited  power  and  great 
resources,  be  really  willing  to  deliver  me  ?" 

John  saw  that  he  was  moved,  and  he  proceeded. 

"  Rightly  viewed,  Arthur,"  he  continued,  "  your  interests 
are  intimately  bound  up  with  mine.  Abandon  your  alliance 
with  Philip,  adhere  to  me  faithfully  and  truly,  as  your  nat- 
ural friend,  protector,  and  ally.  Your  hereditary  dominions 
of  Brittany  shall  be  restored  to  you,  and  I  will  shower  honors 
and  benefits  on  your  head.  You  shall  share  in  all  my  boun- 
ties, and  no  one  shall  receive  more  favor  in  my  dominions." 

Indignation  had  been  growing  up  in  Arthur's  heart.  True, 
Philip  had  aided  him  with  a  niggard  hand  ;  but  then  the 
king  had  probably  calculated  upon  greater  and  more  rapid  ef- 
forts on  the  part  of  the  barons  of  Poitou  and  Maine.  True, 
the  King  of  France  had  not  come  to  his  deliverance  ;  but  Ar- 
thur knew  that  he  was  himself  embarrassed  by  treacherous 
vassals  and  unruly  peers.  True,  Philip  had  not  given  him 
all  the  support  he  expected  ;  but  he  had  supported,  and  had 
never  plundered  him.  Philip  had  kept  his  word.  Philip,  in 
hatred  or  in  friendship,  was  persevering.  Philip  pursued  an 
enemy  or  supported  a  friend  without  fear  or  wavering ;  and 
John — what  was  John  ?  There  rose  up  before  the  boy's  eyes 
the  history  of  his  race.  He  saw  the  rebellious  and  deceitful 
son,  the  treacherous  brother,  the  false  friend,  the  weak  prince, 
the  man  who  never  kept  an  oath  to  friend  or  enemy,  the  plun- 
derer of  his  house,  the  oppressor  of  his  mother,  the  usurper  of 
his  rights.  They  were  all  before  him  in  John,  king  of  En- 
gland ;  and  when  he  heard  him  talk  of  his  dominions — when 
he  spoke  of  bestoAving  favors  and  honors  upon  one  before^  whom 
his  knee  should  bow  as  a  vassal  and  his  brow  bend  with  hu- 
mility and  shame,  the  spirit  of  Plantagenet  rose  up  in  the 
bold  boy's  heart !  and  he  replied  but  too  frankly. 

"  Give  me  back  the  crown  of  England  which  you  have 
usurped,"  he  said  ;  "  deliver  to  me  the  territories  in  this  land 
of  France  which  are  mine  by  inheritance  ;  yield  up  to  me,  as 
your  elder  brother's  son  and  representative,  all  the  broad  pos- 
sessions of  my  uncle  Richard  at  the  day  of  his  death  ;  do  hom- 
age to  me  as  your  sovereign  lord,  for  the  fiefs  you  hold  of  my 
crown,  and  I  will  honor  and  favor  you  according  to  your  obe- 
dience. But  of  this  be  assured,  that  for  these  things  never 
will  I  cease  to  struggle  ;  for  my  rights  and  my  dominions  nev- 
er will  I  cease  to  fight  while  I  have  life  and  strength." 

The  dark  frown  gathered  on  the  weak  tyrant's  brow,  and 


42         DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

his  lip  turned  pale  and  quivered ;  but,  without  reply,  he  quit- 
ted the  chamber,  and  the  heavy  bolts  were  shot  in  the  door 
behind  him. 

There  were  many  secret  consultations  in  the  Castle  of  Fa- 
laise  that  night.  Various  men,  not  famed  for  honesty  and 
scruples — men  of  harsh  visages  and  hard  hearts,  were  closet- 
ed separately  with  King  John.  But  still  he  seemed  dissatis- 
fied when  they  went  away.  There  were  few  who  could  bring 
their  hearts  to  murder  a  boy,  and  one  so  good. 

Nevertheless,  Arthur  had  sealed  his  own  fate,  and  naught 
but  an  agent  was  wanting. 

The  royal  court  of  John  quitted  Falaise,  and  the  castle  and 
the  high  tower  returned  to  their  tranquillity  again.  It  was 
dull  and  heavy,  the  passing  of  the  next  month  ;  and  Arthur's 
heart  sunk  low,  and  expectation  gave  way  to  despondency. 
The  flagging  hours  seemed  weary  of  passing  over  his  head, 
and  he  looked  out  to  the  blue  sky,  and  longed,  hke  the  proph- 
et poet,  for  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that  he  might  fly  away  and 
be  at  rest.  Suddenly  the  information  came  that  he  was  to 
be  removed  to  Rouen ;  and,  though  he  was  strictly  guarded 
by  the  way,  and  suffered  to  speak  to  no  one  but  his  immediate 
attendants,  the  poor  boy  rejoiced.  It  was  a  change  ;  and  any 
thing  seemed  better  than  the  cold  solitude  of  Falaise. 


CHAPTER  III. 


ARTHUR. 


William  de  Brause  sat  with  his  wife  in  the  Castle  of 
Rouen  ;  and  there  was  an  open  letter  before  them.  His  was 
a  harsh  face,  with  more  than  one  scar  upon  it ;  but  it  belied 
the  heart  within.  Matilda  of  St.  Valery  was  any  thing  but 
like  her  husband  ;  for  she  was  bright  and  beautiful  to  behold, 
and  looked  as  mild  and  gentle  as  a  May  morning.  She  tvas 
gentle  too  ;  but  yet,  in  a  good  cause  and  with  a  high  aim,  no 
lion  that  ever  tore  the  hunter  which  pursued  him  was  bolder 
that  Matilda  of  St.  Valery.  Her  high,  true  spirit  cost  her 
her  life  ere  many  years  were  over ;  but  that  is  beyond  the 
limits  of  our  tale.* 

*  Sho  was  thrown  into  prison  in  1208,  with  William  her  eldest  sou, 


ENGLAND—ARTHUR.  43 

"  A  strange  letter,  and  a  dark,"  said  William  de  Brause. 
"  The  king  trusting  in  my  fidelity  and  affection  to  do  him  good 
service,  sends  Prince  Arthur  hither  to  Rouen,  to  my  custody." 

'*  Light  comes  from  darkness,  they  say,"  replied  Matilda 
of  St.  Valery  ;  "  and  when  John  speaks  darkly,  his  meaning 
is  generally  clear.  When  he  speaks  clearly,  it  is  then  men 
should  ask  themselves  what  it  is  he  really  means." 

"  I  know  not  what  he  means,"  replied  her  husband,  "  un- 
less that  I  should  keep  the  poor  boy  strictly." 

"  Perhaps,  that  you  should  not  keep  him  at  all,"  replied 
his  wife. 

"  God's  life,  thou  speakest  parables  too,"  answered  WiUiam 
de  Brause.  "  Not  keep  him  I  Why  does  he  send  him  to  me 
then?" 

"  To  make  away  with  him,"  replied  Matilda,  in  a  low  tone. 

De  Brause  started  and  gazed  at  her  silently. 

"  What  have  I  done,"  he  asked,  at  length,  "  that  this  man 
should  think  me  a  murderer  ?" 

"  Thou  art  rough  in  speech,  bold  in  deed,  harsh  of  visage, 
De  Brause,"  replied  his  wife  ;  "  and  it  is  only  those  that  lie 
in  thy  bosom  who  know  the  beauty  of  the  spirit  and  the  soft- 
ness of  the  heart  within.  This  king  mistakes  thee,  my  hus- 
•band.  Thou  must  teach  him  not  always  to  judge  other  men 
by  himself" 

"Pshaw,  that  is  all  woman's  talk,"  replied  De  Brause, 
kissing  her.  "  He  would  never  seek  to  hurt  the  boy.  No, 
no,  he  only  wants  to  have  him  strictly  guarded,  to  prevent 
mischief  and  keep  down  war.  No  man  would  ever  dream  of 
injuring  a  noble  boy  like  this." 

"  Thou  makest  the  same  mistake  that  he  does,"  said  Ma- 
tilda, sadly.  "  Thou  judgest  others  by  thyself.  Hast  thou 
heard,  De  Brause,  that  Geoffrey  of  Lusignan  is  dead  in  Corfe 
Castle — starved  to  death  ?  Hast  thou  not  heard  the  rumors 
which  have  come  from  Falaise,  of  men  refusing  to  do  dark 
deeds  which  they  dared  not  name?" 

"  Wild,  wandering  reports,"  replied  De  Brause,  "  doubtless 
all  false  and  fanciful."  But  he  got  up  and  strode  about  the 
room  with  a  frowning  brow  and  moody  air,  and  then  went 
away,  bestowing  some  hearty  curses  upon  something,  he  men- 
tioned not  what. 

by  order  of  King  John.  She  had  reproached  him  fearlessly  with  the 
murder  of  Arthur;  and  she  died  in  Corfe  Castle,  no  one  knows  how. 
Her  son  died  also ;  and  her  husband  was  banished,  and  died  two  years 
after  her. 


44  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORI. 

It  was  night  when  Prince  Arthur  arrived  ;  and  the  good 
governor  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  to  his  wife. 

"Here  is  our  noble  guest,  Matilda,"  he  said;  "and  we 
must  make  him  as  comfortable  as  may  be,  in  following  the 
king's  commands.  You  women  know  best  how  to  soothe 
away  sorrow,  so  try  your  skill  on  him,  good  housewite." 

Her  skill  was  not  employed  in  vain ;  for,  though  weary  and 
sick  at  heart  when  he  arrived,  though  the  dark  town  and  the 
frowning  fortress  were  not  calculated  to  raise  up  hopes,  yet 
the  kind  woman's  smile  and  her  tender  care  had  power  to 
soothe  and  cheer ;  and  for  a  time  Arthur  thought  Rouen  bet- 
ter than  Falaise.  It  lasted  not  long,  however  ;  for  it  was  not 
the  purpose  of  the  hard  uncle  that  Arthur  should  be  happy. 
First  came  a  letter  from  the  king,  reproving  De  Brause  for 
the  liberty  he  had  allowed  his  prisoner,  and  ordering  that  Ar- 
thur should  be  closely  confined  in  the  new  tower.  Then  came 
a  command  to  exclude  every  body  from  him  but  one  jailer ; 
and  then  John  himself  arrived  to  take  up  his  residence  in 
Rouen,  and  there  were  gloomy  looks  and  discontented  speeches 
passed  between  De  Brause  and  the  king.  The  feudal  baron 
was  bold  and  stern,  and,  like  the  famous  Scotch  reformer, 
feared  not  the  face  of  mortal  man.  He  doubted  the  king's 
purpose.  He  knew  him  to  be  faithless,  treacherous,  and 
cruel ;  and  the  words  of  his  wife  had  now  been  confirmed  by 
direct  intelligence  from  Falaise. 

It  was  one  gloomy  winter  morning ;  and  the  large  logs 
burned  upon  the  hearth.  A  white  mist  rose  up  from  the 
Seme ;  the  wind  was  cold  and  cutting ;  it  was  no  day  for 
traveling.  De  Brause  had  been  sad  and  thoughtful  all  the 
preceding  evening,  and  gloomy  and  stern  in  the  early  morn- 
ing ;  but  he  had  a  lighter  look  when  he  entered  his  wife's 
chamber,  about  ten  o'clock  before  noon. 

"Quick,  wife,"  he  exclaimed,  "pack  up  your  goods  and 
gewgaws.     We  shall  ride  forth  from  Rouen  before  night." 

"  What  has  happened,  De  Brause  ?"  demanded  Matilda. 

"  Nothing,  dear  love,"  he  answered ;  "  but  something  is 
going  to  happen.  Within  an  hour  John  will  be  here  to  hold 
a  court,  and  receive  the  homage  of  Martin  of  Duclerc.  Then, 
in  the  presence  of  all,  I  give  up  my  command  into  his  hands. 
I  will  bear  these  heavy  thoughts  no  longer.  I  will  neither 
be  a  jailer  nor  a  murderer,  good  wife,  so,  with  God's  blessing, 
we  will  ride  forth  and  leave  him  to  do  his  will." 

"  Alas,  the  poor  boy  I"  replied  Matilda  of  St.  Valery. 

De  Brause  gazed  at  her  sorrowfully. 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR.  45 

•'  Alas,  indeed  I"  he  said ;  *'  but  if  I  can  do  naught  to  help 
him,  I  will  do  naught  to  wrong  him ,-  and  I  will  not  stay  to 
witness  what  is  to  happen.  Perhaps,  too,  I  may  speak  a  word 
which  will  frighten  the  wolf  from  his  prey.  But  God  knows, 
there  are  some  men  who  are  only  bold  in  evil  deeds.  How- 
ever, I  must  hasten  away  ;  for  I  hear  horses  below  ;"  and  he 
left  her. 

John  sat  in  his  chair  of  state;  aiid  many  a  Norman  and 
English  baron  stood  around  while  the  act  of  homage  was  per- 
formed by  one  of  the  vassals  of  Normandy.  The  king's  face 
was  smooth  and  smiling.  A  sleepy  sort  of  languor  was  in  his 
eyes ;  and  the  long  hair,  which  hung  upon  his  shoulders,  was 
curled  and  perfumed  with  more  than  usual  care.  But  those 
who  knew  him  best  argued  no  good  from  such  indications. 
He  seemed  to  remark  that  there  were  many  cold  and  cheer- 
less looks  about  him  ;  and  he  spoke  to  several  of  the  Norman 
nobles  in  soothing  and  familiar  tones. 

De  Brause  gave  him  no  great  time  for  discourse,  however ; 
for  hardly  had  the  homage  been  performed  a  minute,  when 
he  stepped  forward  into  the  circle,  saying,  with  a  grave,  stern 
manner,  "  My  lord  the  king,  I  deliver  into  your  hands  the 
command  of  this  Castle  of  Rouen,  with  which  you  intrusted 
me  some  eighteen  months  ago,  and  also  the  custody  of  youT 
nephew.  Prince  Arthur,  which  you  gave  me  without  my  seek- 
ing, and  contrary  to  my  wish.  What  may  be  his  fate  here- 
after, I  know  not ;  but  witness,  all  noble  gentlemen  here 
present,  that  I  deliver  him  into  the  king's  hands  safe,  and  in 
good  health.  I  beg  you  to  name  some  one  to  take  this  charge, 
which  is  too  heavy  for  me.  My  own  affairs  call  me  imme- 
diately to  my  lordship' of  Brause,  for  which  I  must  set  out 
this  very  day." 

John  had  frowned  upon  him  from  the  beginning  of  his 
speech,  with  a  fierce  and  vindictive  look  ;  but  in  this  case  the 
tiger  was  chained.  The  barons  of  Normandy  stood  around  ; 
and  he  dared  not  violate  their  rights  in  the  person  of  De 
Brause. 

"  This  is  sudden,"  he  said,  slowly  and  thoughtfully  ;  "  sud- 
den, and  not  courteous  to  your  king,  and  to  one  who  has  fa- 
vored you." 

As  he  spoke,  he  rolled  his  eyes  over  the  circle  round  him, 
with  a  doubtful  and  considerate  look.  He  was  long  in  find- 
ing a  face  that  pleased  him.  Pembroke's  would  not  do. 
Salisbury's  would  not  do.  Brionne's  he  did  not  like.  The 
Lord  of  Maille  he  dreaded.     There  was  a  man  standing  be- 


/y'^p"'  Of  ^me' 


46  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

hind,  with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  chest  and  a  slight  smile 
upon  his  hp,  with  more  of  bitter  than  of  sweet  in  it ;  and,  as 
John's  eye  hghted  on  his  face,  between  the  shoulders  of  two 
others,  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  *'  Robert  de  Vipont,  stand  for- 
ward. We  will  bestow  on  you  the  custody  of  our  dear  neph- 
ew, if  you  will  undertake  it." 

"  Right  willingly,  my  liege,"  replied  De  Vipont,  coming 
forward  ;  "  and  I  trust  I  shall  give  satisfaction  in  my  oiEce." 

"  Doubtless,  doubtless,"  said  John,  bending  his  head  ;  and 
then,  turning  toward  De  Brause,  he  said,  coldly,  "  Give  up 
your  charge  to  him,  sir." 

"  By  your  good  leave,  my  liege,"  said  De  Brause,  "  I  will 
have  two  of  these  noble  lords  to  witness  the  surrender  of  my 
prisoner  into  his  hands,  that  they  may  testify  to  your  highness 
that  the  prince  is  safe  and  well.  It  is  according  to  feudal 
custom,  and  my  right." 

John  had  turned  toward  him  fiercely  at  the  first  words, 
but  he  overcame  the  passion  in  his  heart  with  marvelous 
self-command. 

"  Be  it  so,"  he  said,  in  the  same  cold,  chilly  tone.  "  Let 
us  go,  my  lords ;"  and  he  rose  and  quitted  the  hall. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ARTHUR. 

The  night  was  dark  and  tempestuous.  Heavy  gusts  of 
wind  swept  down  the  Valley  of  the  Seine.  There  was  not  a 
star  to  be  seen  in  the  sky,  and  sweeping  clouds  obscured  the 
whole  face  of  heaven.  It  was  the  night  of  the  new  moon, 
and  very  dark.  The  town  of  Rouen  was  still  and  silent.  All 
the  busy  population  of  the  Norman  capital  was  buried  in 
slumber  ;  and  on  neither  side  of  the  river  was  any  one  seen 
except  two  poor  women  on  the  left  bank,  who  sat  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  keeping  up  a  fire  in  a  raised  chafing-dish, 
the  light  of  which  floated  down  the  stream,  but  which  was 
shaded  on  the  other  side  from  the  northeasterly  blast. 

At  that  time  the  fish  of  the  Seine  was  abundant  and  in 
high  repute ;  and  many  fishermen  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Rouen  and  Canteleu  made  a  scanty  living  by  sailing  down 


B  N  G  L  A  N  D— A  R  T  H  U  R.  47 

toward  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  bringmg  all  that  they 
could  sweep  up  in  their  nets  for  the  daily  supply  of  the  city 
market.  Their  trade  was  not  without  peril ;  and  this,  as  I 
have  said,  was  a  stormy  night.  The  women  I  have  spoken 
of  were  two  fishermen's  wives,  watching  for  the  return  of 
their  husbands,  who  had  been  absent  longer  than  their  wont ; 
and  the  fire  was  a  little  homely  beacon,  lighted  to  show 
them,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  their  accustomed  landing- 
place. 

Patiently  had  they  watched  for  many  an  hour,  when,  sud- 
denly, they  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  coming  down  the 
Bernay  road.  '*  Heaven  send  it  may  be  the  king  coming 
back,"  said  one  of  the  women  to  the  other ;  '*  for  then  we 
shall  have  a  good  market  for  the  fish." 

"  No  such  good  luck,"  replied  the  other.  "  The  king 
would  not  come  at  this  hour ;  and,  besides,  I  only  hear  two 
or  three  horses." 

As  she  spoke,  she  went  up  the  little  bank  to  obtain  a  sight 
of  the  road.  Her  eyes  had  grown  familiar  with  the  darkness, 
and  she  saw  three  horsemen  ride  down  toward  the  river  and 
dismount.  One  of  them  gathered  all  the  reins  together,  and 
remained  where  he  was.  The  other  two  went  close  down  to 
the  edge  of  the  water,  one  of  them  turning  his  head  and  say- 
ing, "  Mind  you  stir  not  a  step,  for  your  life." 

"  I  will  not,  my  liege,"  replied  the  man  who  held  the 
horses ;  and  the  other  two  walked  for  several  yards  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  Seine. 

The  dip  of  oars  in  the  water  was  heard,  and  the  two  women, 
lookmg  out,  saw  faintly  the  outline  of  a  boat,  with  two  men 
in  it,  making  its  way  toward  the  opposite  shore.  It  was  soon 
lost  in  the  darkness,  and  they  perceived  not  whither  it  w^ent ; 
but  some  twenty  minutes  or  half  an  hour  after  a  light  streamed 
out  from  one  of  the  lower  windows  of  the  new  tower,  where 
all  had  been  black  before.  That  light  remained  there  ;  but 
very  soon,  through  one  of  the  loop-holes  of  the  tall  lateral  tur- 
ret, which  contained  the  stair-case,  a  yellow  glare  broke  forth 
upon  the  night,  faded  away,  appeared  at  the  loop-hole  above, 
and  then  at  another  higher  still.  It  was  next  seen  spreading 
over  one  of  the  upper  casements  of  the  tower  ;  and  the  wom- 
en fancied  they  heard  the  sound  of  voices,  speaking  loud; 
borne  across  the  river  by  the  wind. 

A  moment  or  two  after  there  was  a  loud  and  piercing 
shriek,  a  second  fainter,  and  then  what  seemed  a  deep,  mur- 
muring groan;  and  at  the  same  time  the  light  was  extin 


48  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

guished  in  the  chamber  above.  The  women  shook  very 
much,  but  dared  not  ask  each  other  what  all  this  might 
mean.  Not  long  after,  they  heard  a  heavy  plunge  in  the  wa- 
ter, and  then  the  creaking  sound  of  the  oars  upon  the  gun- 
wale, and  their  measured  dip  in  the  stream.  The  boat  re- 
turned before  their  eyes,  with  two  men  in  it,  as  before  ;  and, 
after  a  few  minutes,  the  horses'  feet  were  heard  beating  the 
ground,  and  taking,  apparently,  the  way  back  to  Bernay. 

For  two  hours  more  the  women  waited  and  watched.  All 
was  silent  and  still ;  and  they  conversed  often  in  low  whis- 
pers, as  if  they  feared  that  some  one  might  be  Hstening.  At 
length  the  sound  of  voices  was  indistinctly  heard,  the  rushing 
of  a  small  bark  through  the  water,  a  loud  call  from  a  well- 
known  voice,  as  some  one  caught  sight  of  the  fire,  and  in  a 
moment  or  two  more  husbands  and  wives  were  busily  unload- 
ing the  bo^t,  which  brought  home  an  abundant  freight  to  re- 
pay watching  and  anxiety.  Joy  and  satisfaction  first  had 
way ;  but,  after  that  had  subsided,  each  wife  told  her  hus- 
band what  they  had  seen  and  heard,  and  much  did  they  all 
marvel  what  it  might  mean.  Some  ten  days  after,  one  of 
those  very  men,  fishing,  with  several  companions,  many  miles 
further  down  the  Seine,  fancied  he  had  caught  in  his  net  a 
larger  draught  of  fishes  than  he  had  brought  up  that  year ; 
but  when  the  nets  were  drawn  in,  though  there  were  fish  in 
plenty  in  it,  yet  ther^  was  an  object  which  attracted  more 
attention  still.  It  was  the  body  of  a  fair  and  beautiful  boy 
of  some  sixteen  years  of  age,  with  bright,  long  hair,  which 
floated  over  the  face  as  they  raised  it  up.  It  was  lightly 
clothed  in  Buch  habiliments  as  persons  of  high  rank  in  those 
days  wore  at  night.  There  was  the  shirt  tied  with  a  blue 
ribbon  at  the  neck,  and  a  furred  dressing-gown  of  cloth  of  sil- 
ver. There  was  a  large  gold  ring,  too,  upon  the  thumb,  with 
a  beautiful  ruby  in  it  of  the  size  of  a  silver  sol.  When  they 
came  to  examine  the  body  more  closely,  they  found  a  deep 
sword  wound  passing  through  and  through  it,  and  another, 
contused  and  ragged,  on  the  left  temple.  The  rough  men 
shook  their  heads,  with  a  sad  and  mournful  look ;  and  carry- 
ing the  body,  which  was  in  no  degree  decomposed  (for  the 
weather  had  been  very  cold,  although  it  was  now  the  13th 
of  April,  in- the  year  of  our  Lord  1203),  to  the  neighboring 
monastery  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Fields,  they  gave  it  into  the 
hands  of  the  good  monies.  The  abbot  was  called  to  look  at 
it ;  and  when  he  had  gazed  at  it  for  a  moment  or  two,  the 
tears  came  into  the  old  man's  eyes. 


ENGLAND— ARTHUR.  49 

"  Alas,  alas  I"  he  said ;  "  and  is  it  even  so  I  Go  your  ways, 
good  men,  go  your  ways ;  and  remember,  if  you  would  save 
your  own  lives,  be  veiy  silent.  We  will  give  this  youth 
burial  here  in  our  own  church ;  and  a  mass  shall  be  said 
every  day  for  a  twelve-month  for  the  repose  of  his  soul.  He 
had  httle  peace  or  happiness  on  earth.  May  he  find  both  in 
heaven." 

The  body  was  buried  in  quiet  secrecy  by  the  good  monk* 
of  St.  Mary's  ;  and  masses  were  said  as  the  abbot  had  prom- 
ised ;  but  Arthur  of  Brittany  was  never  heard  of  more  among 
the  hving.* 

•  The  annals  of  Margan  coincide  in  many  particulars  with  the  ac- 
count of  William  the  Breton.  Matthew  Paris  is  less  explicit.  Ralph 
of  Coggeshal  supplies  a  few  particulars  to  the  tale ;  and  1  have  prefer- 
red the  accounts  of  these  authors  to  the  less  credible  statement  of  Ar- 
gentr6,  which  I  can  not  discover  to  have  been  based  upon  any  thing  but 
a  vague  rumor  among  the  barons  of  Brittany.  The  unanimous  testi- 
mony of  historians  proves  that  Arthur  was  murdered,  almost  all  say  by 
John's  own  hand,  though  some  assert  that  it  was  done  by  others  at  his 
instigation,  and  Matthew  Paris  uses  the  delicate  expression  "  Arthurus 
subito  evanuit." 

c 


50  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PERKIN   WAEBECK. 

It  was  an  intensely  hot  day,  toward  the  end  of  August,  in 
the  year  1485,  and  the  busy  citizens  of  London  were  taking 
some  short  repose,  after  enjoying  the  mid-day  meal.  Never- 
theless, there  was  much  agitation  in  the  city,  ibr  it  was  known 
that  hostile  armies  were  marching  toward  each  other  in  the 
heart  of  the  laud,  and  hourly  news  was  expected  of  a  battle, 
which  would  decide  the  fate  of  England.  The  two  parties 
of  York  and  Lancaster  were  not  yet  wholly  extinct.  Many 
who  had  fought  for  one  rose  or  another  were  still  living,  and 
old  wounds  were  still  sore  ;  but,  nevertheless,  faction  had  lost 
much  of  its  rancor ;  and  the  accession  of  Richard  III.  had 
tended  to  unite  many  partisans  of  both  houses,  in  opposition 
to  a  prince,  whom  both  regarded  as  a  usurper. 

But  Richard's  friends  were  very  powerful  in  London ;  and 
on  that  day,  the  25th  of  August,  they  walked  the  streets  with 
a  proud  and  confident  air,  well  assured  that  their  master,  a 
great  general  as  well  as  a  great  statesman,  supported  by  vet- 
eran troops,  and  assisted  by  skillful  officers,  would  obtain  an 
easy  victory  over  the  scum  of  England,  and  the  rabble  of 
Brittany,  led  by  the  unwarlike  and  unfamed  Richmond.  All 
were  eager  for  news  from  Leicester,  however  ;  and  though  the 
malcontents  were  afraid  to  inquire  too  eagerly  for  intelligence, 
lest  their  hopes  should  become  apparent,  yet  many  a  one  ques- 
tioned his  neighbor  in  private.  The  partisans  of  the  king, 
on,  the  other  hand,  boldly  questioned  every  one  they  saw,  if 
any  distinct  information  had  been  received  of  the  royal  suc- 
cess. Often  might  a  man  be  seen  in  that  after-dinner  hour, 
quietly  gliding  from  his  own  open  door  into  that  of  the  ad- 
joining house,  to  gather  the  news  of  the  day,  or  returning 
with  a  doubtfid  and  dejected  countenance  as  he  heard  report 
of  Richmond's  men  having  fallen  from  him,  or  of  scanty  levies 
among  his  friends,  or  of  the  indiflerence  of  the  people  of  the 
country. 

If  any  group  was  seen,  however,  gathered  together  at  the 
Bhady  corner  of  the  street,  discussing  the  passing  events  with 
loud  tones  and  a  swaggering  air,  sure  might  you  be  that  they 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBECK.       ai 

were  Richard's  men,  even  though  they  displayed  not  the  cog- 
nizance of  the  boar.       •" 

Toward  evening  one  of  those  strange  rumors  which  have 
something  prophetic  in  them  began  to  spread  through  the 
city.  No  messenger  had  arrived  from  Bosworth  Field,  no  def- 
inite intelligence  was  to  be  got  from  any  one,  but  yet  the  re- 
port ran  from  house  to  house,  and  mouth  to  mouth,  with  in- 
credible rapidity,  that  a  great  battle  had  been  fought,  and  that 
Henry  Tudor  was  victor  of  the  field. 

About  six  o'clock,  a  dusty  horseman,  with  a  jaded  horse, 
rode  into  the  town,  and  was  seen  by  many  spurring  on  toward 
the  Tower.  He  looked  not  to  the  right  or  left.  His  brow 
was  dark  and  gloomy,  and  he  seemed  utterly  wearied  out. 
A  man  called  to  him  from  the  door  of  an  ale-house  to  stop 
and  take  a  draught ;  but  the  horseman  spurred  on  and  heeded 
not.  When  not  a  bow-shot  from  the  gates  of  the  Tower,  a 
draper,  well  to  do,  who  knew  him  to  be  a  servant  of  Brack- 
enbury  the  lieutenant,  ran  up  to  the  horse,  and  asked  him 
what  news  from  the  North.  The  man  answered  not ;  and 
then  the  draper  inquired,  how  was  his  noble  master. 

"  Dead  I"  replied  the  man,  and  spurred  on,  nor  paused  fur- 
ther till  he  had  passed  the  draw-bridge. 

From  that  moment  there  was  a  strange  movement  within 
the  Tower.  Many  people  were  observed  to  quit  it  carrying 
bundles  and  boxes.  The  gates  were  left  unguarded,  or  nearly 
so  ;  and  the  rumor  spread  fast  that  a  battle  had  been  fought, 
King  Richard  defeated  and  slain,  and  Brackenbury  the  lieu- 
tenant left  among  the  dead.  Groups  collected  around  the 
gates ;  but  they  consisted  only  of  the  lower  classes ;  for  the  lord 
mayor  and  the  citizens  had  assembled  in  the  Guildhall,  and 
were  discussing  somewhat  profusely  what  was  to  be  done  next. 

As  the  evening, began  to  close  in,  two  men  on  foot  passed 
over  the  draw-bridge  into  the  Tower.  One  was  a  monk,  and 
the  other  seemed  a  serving-man.  They  had  not  entered  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  when  two  others  rode  up,  men  bearing 
arms  and  of  a  military  look.  The  horses  were  tired,  but  the 
riders  had  a  gay  and  triumphant  air.  Both  seemed  to  have 
fared  well  on  the  road  too ;  for  their  speech  was  somewhat 
thick,  and  the  tone  boisterous. 

"  What  news,  what  news  ]"  cried  some  of  the  people  in  the 
crowd  as  they  rode  among  them  slowly. 

"  What  news  I"  cried  the  soberer  of  the  two.  *'  Have  you 
not  heard  it,  lads  ?  Well,  then,  long  live  Henry,  king  of  En- 
gland !"  and  he  threw  his  cap  up  into  the  air. 


52  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

.  ''*  Lancaster  I  Lancaster  !  Long  live  King  Henry  P'  shout- 
ed the  mob  ;  and  a  scramble  took  place  to  catch  the  man's 
cap,  which  fell  among  the  crowd. 

"  Come  to  the  Guildhall !  Come  to  the  hall  I"  cried  one 
of  the  most  forward  among  the  people.  "  Come,  tell  the 
mayor  and  aldermen  the  good  tidings ;"  and  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  man's  bridle,  while  shouts  of  "  Lancaster  I"  echoed 
round. 

"  Stay,  stay — I  must  say  a  word  to  the  warder,  and  then 
I  am  with  you,"  answered  the  horseman.  "  Here,  good  man 
with  the  boar  on  your  breast,  go  tell  the  deputy  that  I  will  be 
back  presently.  You  may  say  that  the  tyrant  is  dead  on 
Bosworth  Field,  and  Harry  of  Richmond,  king  of  England — 
Ah,  I  forgot.  That  is  not  all.  Say  I  come  from  Sir  Robert 
Willoughby,  now  lieutenant  of  the  Tower,  to  bid  him  be 
ready  to  yield  his  charge  peaceably  to-morrow  before  noon,  for 
Sir  Robert  is  by  this  time  at  Barnet,  I  dare  say." 

The  man  went  away,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  men  and 
boys,  eagerly  seeking  the  news  of  Bosworth,  and  the  warder 
ran  in  with  the  tidings.  The  deputy  was  speaking  low  and 
eagerly  with  the  monk  who  had  lately  entered  ;  and  when  he 
heard  the  news  the  warder  brought,  he  made  no  comment 
thereon,  but  continued  almost  in  a  whisper,  as  if  in  conclu- 
sion of  what  he  had  been  saying, 

"  Now  is  the  moment.  Quick,  then — quick  I  Commend 
me  to  her  highness,  and  crave  her  gracious  favor  for  me." 

Ten  minutes  after,  the  monk  and  the  serving-man  went 
forth  again  from  the  Tower ;  but  they  had  now  a  fair  young 
boy  between  them,  who  looked  round  as  if  in  terror,  and  held 
fast  by  the  monk's  robe.  No  one  noticed  them.  It  was  now 
nearly  dark.  All  was  confusion  in  the  courts  of  the  Tower  ; 
the  gate  was  wide  open,  the  draw-bridge  down,  the  mob  all 
gone  to  the  Guildhall ;  and  the  monk,  and  boy,  and  serving- 
man  passed  on.  They  bent  their  steps  through  narrow  streets 
to  the  water's  edge,  and  entered  a  lonely,  melancholy  house. 
The  serving-man  stationed  himself  at  the  door,  which  was 
open  when  they  arrived,  and  the  monk  and  the  boy  walked 
hastily  in.  They  went  up  a  broad  flight  of  low,  open  stairs, 
and  along  a  corridor.  The  monk  threw  back  a  door,  and  the 
boy  sprang  in. 

There  were  two  ladies  in  the  room :  one  past  the  early 
prime  of  life,  but  still  beautiful ;  the  other  like  a  flower  in  the 
spring ;  and  the  moment  they  beheld  the  boy  they  caught 
lux?,  in  their  arms,  and  smothered  him  with  caresses.     One 


fl^GLAND—PERKIN    WARBECK.  53 

twined  her  arms  around  him  ;  then  the  other  caught  him  to 
her  heart.  Both  wept,  and  both  smiled  ;  and  speech  seemed 
extinguished  for  some  time  in  manifold  emotions. 

At  length,  however,  the  elder  lady  raised  her  eyes  toward 
heaven  with  a  look  of  anguish,  strangely  contrasting  with  the 
joy  which  her  face  had  just  before  expressed. 

"  You  must  go,  my  boy,"  she  said  ;  "  you  must  go,  Richard. 
We  must  not  keep  you  here." 

"  But  if  my  uncle  is  slain,  dearest  mother,  why  need  I  go  ?" 
demanded  the  boy.  "  The  Earl  of  Richmond  is  more  unkind, 
if  he  sends  me  away  from  England,  than  my  uncle  Richard  ; 
for,,  though  he  would  not  let  me  out  of  the  Tower,  he  was 
kind,  and  kept  me  here." 

"  It  is  for  your  own  good,  my  boy,"  answered  the  elder  lady. 
**  It  is  not  he  who  sends  you ;  it  is  I.  There  are  dangers 
abroad,  Richard — ^more  dangers  than  you  wot  of  Man's  am- 
bition is  never  to  be  trusted.  Richmond  is  already  proclaim- 
ed King  of  England,  and  we  have  no  power  to  assert  your 
title  against  his.  The  attempt  would  be  destruction  to  all  of 
us.  You  must  go,  my  boy,  and  go  at  once.  This  good  father 
will  explain  all  to  you  by  the  way.  The  time  may  come 
when  a  brighter  fate  will  attend  you.  Till  that  day  arrives, 
you  must  conceal  your  name,  your  rights,  your  station.  A 
mother's  and  a  sister's  love  shall  always  watch  over  you,  and 
we  shall  meet  again,  I  trust,-in  happier  hours.  I  have  but 
one  injunction  to  give ;  but  let  it  sink  deep  into  your  heart. 
Treasure  up  in  your  memory  every  scene,  every  word,  every 
act  of  these  times.  Let  nothing  that  has  happened  to  you  in 
these  days  pass  from  your  remembrance.  Let  not  new  places 
or  new  friends  banish  them  from  your  recollection,  nor  time 
wear  out  the  soft  traces  from  the  mind  of  youth.  Whether 
your  hours  be  spent  in  pastime  or  in  study,  pause  and  ponder 
for  a  while  each  day,  recalling,  as  clearly  as  possible,  all  that 
you  now  recollect :  your  father's  court,  your  mother's  love, 
the  person  and  appearance  of  all  your  near  relations,  your 
dwelling  in  the  Tower,  the  sports  and  companions  of  your 
childhood.     And  now  farewell,  my  boy,  farewell !" 

It  was  a  bitter  parting  ;  but  a  mother's  heart  reconciled  it- 
self to  the  pang,  by  the  knowledge  that  her  child  was  saved. 

The  boy,  the  monk,  and  the  serving-man  set  out.  A  wher- 
ry, with  the  common  waterman,  conveyed  them  down  the  river 
to  a  Flemish  ship,  which  was  lying  below  the  bridire  ;  and  in 
a  few  hours  afterward  they  were  upon  the  sea.  The  mouth 
of  the  Scheldt  received  them,  after  a  tempestuous  voyage ; 


54  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

and,  journeying  on,  they  reached  the  town  of  Tournay,  where 
their  travels  ceased.  The  monk  spoke  the  languaire  of  the 
country  well ;  but  neither  the  boy,  nor  the  old  serving-man, 
who  remained  with  him,  understood  a  word  ;  and  the  conver- 
sation of  all  three  was  in  English  when  conversing  with  each 
other.  There  were  many  of  their  countrymen  in  the  town, 
and  occasionally  they  met  and  conversed,  but  it  was  always 
with  reserve  ;  for  the  monk  never  lost  sight  of  his  young 
charge,  till  he  had  filled  his  mind  with  the  conviction  that  his 
life  or  his  liberty  depended  upon  concealment.  It  would  seem 
that  the  old  man  had  obtaiuf^i  a  dispensation  from  his  vows- 
of  seclusion,  for  he  quitted  not  the  side  of  that  boy  for  several 
years,  but  remained  with  him,  instructing  him  in  many  things, 
and  taking  care  that  naught  which  he  had  learned  should  es- 
cape from  his  memoiy. 

From  time  to  time  news  came  from  England  ;  and  money, 
though  not  in  abundance,  was  never  wanting.  They  heard 
that  Henry  of  Richmond  was  king.  They  heard  that  he  was 
husband  of  Elizabeth  of  York.  And  sometimes  the  boy  would 
smile  at  the  tidings  which  r«aphed  liim  ;  sometimes  he  would 
weep. 

At  length  a  sore  fever  prevailed  in  the  land,  and  the  old 
serving-man  caught  it  and  died.  The  monk  and  the  boy, 
however,  escaped,  and  two  more  years  passed,  while  time  did 
its  work  on  both.  The  boy  grew  up  into  a  tall  and  hand- 
some youth.  He  learned  to  ride,  to  dance,  to  use  the  sword 
and  lance.  The  monk  withered,  and  became  bent  and  fee- 
ble ;  and  though  he  was  still  cheerful,  as  good  men  often  are 
in  life's  decline,  he  evidently  felt  his  days  were  drawing  to  a 
close. 

In  1487,  news  reached  Flanders  that  an  aspirant  to  the 
crown  of  England  hid  appeared,  calling  himself  Edward 
Plantagenet,  earl  of  Warwick,  son  of  George,  duke  of  Clar- 
ence. But  the  boy  and  the  monk  only  smiled ;  and  when, 
some  time  after,  they  heard  that  the  real  Earl  of  Warwick 
had  been  shown  to  the  people  by  King  Henry,  and  that  the 
pretender  had  been  exposed,  defeated  in  battle,  and  made  a 
Bcullion  in  the  king's  kitchen,  they  laughed  aloud. 

The  monk,  however,  as  I  have  said,  declined,  wasting  slow- 
ly but  perceptibly.  His  memory  began  to  fail.  His  thoughts 
were  not  so  cleq,r ;  his  speech  became  thick  and  indistinct. 
About  this  time  a  stranger  visited  them  from  England,  and, 
seeing  the  stnte  of  the  good  old  man,  he  gave  some  money, 
which  he  had  Ixumi  charged  to  deliver,  into  the  hands  of  the 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  55 

young  boy.  He  bade  him  also,  if  the  monk  died,  and  he  had 
need  of  writing  into  England,  to  address  his  letter  to  the  Prior 
of  St.  Alban's  ;  to  make  no  mention  of  former  times  ;  to  state 
his  wants  and  wishes  briefly,  and  to  sign  merely  the  name  of 
Richard. 

The  monk  died,  and  the  boy  remained  alone,  lodging  in  the 
house  of  a  person  named  Usbeck,  one  of  the  officers  of  the 
town  of  Tournay.  He  soon  got  tired,  however ;  for  these 
were  coarse,  rude  people  among  whom  he  dwelt,  and  he  was 
now  a  noble-looking,  princely  youth,  graceful  in  his  manners, 
and  wdth  many  a  rich  store  in  his  mind.  He  resolved  to  see 
more  of  the  wide  world  ;  there  was  none  to  restrain  him  ;  and, 
taking  advantage  of  a  Portuguese  ship  which  happened  to  be 
in  the  Scheldt,  he  set  sail  for  that  land  of  bold  adventurers.* 


CHAPTER  II. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1492,  when 
a  ship  appeared  off  the  coast  of  Ireland  bearing  Portuguese 
colors.  A  boat  rowed  off,  containing,  besides  a  portion  of  the* 
ordinary  crew,  two  or  three  persons  of  distinguished  appear- 
ance, one  of  whom  was  a  youth,  apparently  of  some  sixteen 
years  of  age,  tall,  handsome,  beautifully  formed,  with  a  counte- 
nance, once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten.  It  was  full  of  beautiful 
peculiarities  :  it  was  the  countenance  of  a  race.  His  dress 
was  not  what  could  be  called  splendid,  but  rich  and  graceful ; 

*  The  foregoing  statement  can  not  be  borne  out  by  any  direct  au- 
thority ;  but  I  have  adopted  this  view  of  the  escape  of  Richard,  duke 
of  York,  out  of  the  Tower,  from  a  disquisition  attributed,  I  believe 
justly,  to  Malcolm  Laing,  as  the  most  probable  explanation  of  the  dark- 
er parts  in  the  history  of  him  who  has  been  called  by  historians  Perkin 
Warbeck,  in  consequence  of  the  bold,  though  contradictory  and  unsub- 
stantiated, assertions  of  the  adherents  of  the  house  of  Tudor.  Mr.  Lalng 
only  ventures  to  state  that  it  is  more  probable  that  the  young  son  of  Ed- 
ward was  withdrawn  from  the  Tower  in  the  confusion  which  reigned 
in  London  between  the  death  of  Richard  III.  and  t^j  arrival  of  Sir  Rob- 
ert Willoughby  at  the  Tower,  than  at  any  other 'ifime;  but  that  the 
prince  did  escnpe,  rests  upon  the  much  stronger  body  of  evidence,  prin- 
cipally negative,  indeed,  but  yet  most  conclusive. 


56  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

and  his  doublet  of  pale-blue  silk  suited  well  his  clear  and 
brilliant  complexion.  He  wore  a  long,  heavy  sword  upon  his 
left  hip,  and  a  dagger  thrust  through  his  girdle,  immediately 
in  front ;  and,  notwithstanding  his  extreme  youth,  his  muscu- 
lar Hmbs  seemed  well  fitted  to  wield  the  weapons  which  he 
bore.  When  the  boat  touched  the  shore,  two  of  the  sailors 
jumped  out,  and  held  their  hands  to  assist  the  passengers  in 
disembarking.  The  youth  at  once  rose  and  landed,  and  the 
others  followed  him  with  an  air  of  respect.  There  were  sev- 
eral persons  watching  the  proceedings  of  the  party,  and  one 
asked  the  other  who  these  might  be. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  an  old  soldier  who  was  standing  by ; 
"but  that  lad  is  wonderfully  like  good  King  Edward  IV.,  as 
I  recollect  him  ten  years  before  his  death."  He  swore  an 
oath,  and  added,  "  I  beUeve  it  is  himself  come  to  life  again." 

The  words  had  caught  the  youth's  ear ;  and  with  a  sudden 
movement,  as  if  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  he  turned  round, 
with  a  bright  smile,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  old  man. 

The  soldier  caught  it,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  it ;  and, 
while  the  party  walked  on  into  the  town,  he  hurried  away  to 
the  Mayor  of  Cork,  and  told  him  he  had  seen  King  Edward's 
son.  There  were  many  inquiries  made  as  to  where  the  stran- 
gers were  lodged  ;  and  at  nightfall  the  mayor  went  away,  to 
see  with  his  own  eyes  this  extraordinary  hkeness  of  which  the 
old  soldier  had  spoken. 

*  "I  have  seen  good  King  Edward  many  a  time,"  he  said ; 
"  and  metliinks  I  should  know  his  son  if  I  beheld  him." 

When  the  mayor  arrived  at  the  lodging  of  the  strangers, 
he  found  a  certain  seeming  of  royal  state.  A  servant  stood 
at  the  door  of  the  room  where  they  were,  and  demanded  his 
name  before  he  would  give  him  admission. 

•'  Tell  him,"  said  the  visitor,  "  that  I  am  John  le  Mellen, 
mayor  of  the  town  of  Cork." 

He  was  admitted  instantly,  and  found  the  youth  sitting 
with  his  bonnet  on,  while  the  other  two  persons  present  were 
bareheaded. 

"  You  are  welcome.  Master  Mayor,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  I  pray  you,  be  seated.  What  may  be  your  business  with 
me?" 

The  mayor  gazed  at  him  intently,  still  standing,  and  then 
replied,  in  a  vdtfMhat  shook  a  good  deal,  "  May  I  first  know 
in  whose  pres^m  &^  ?" 

**My  name  is  Richard  Plantagenet,"  jreplied  the  young 
man,  with  a  bland  smile.     "  Why  do  you  ask  ?" 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  57 

"  My  king,  ray  king !"  cried  the  mayor  ;  *•  I  can  not  be  mis- 
taken. The  image  of  the  royal  Edward  is  before  rae  ;"  and 
he  bent  his  knee  and  kissed  the  young  man's  hand. 

"I  did  not  know,"  said  the  youth,  "  that  I  was  so  like,  till 
I  met  an  old  man  on  the  beach,  who  likewise  recognized  me 
instantly." 

Such  was  the  first  recognition  of  Richard,  duke  of  York. 
But  there  be  some  whose  fate  seems  to  justify  the  old  super- 
stition of  those  who  say  that  men  are  born  under  an  unfavor- 
able star.  Richard's  sun  was  almost  always  clouded,  from 
dawn  till  night ;  and  if  it  yielded  any  brightness,  it  was  but 
with  the  treacherous  ray  that  lures  the  husbandman  to  sow 
the  seed,  and  then  leaves  the  produce  to  be  blighted.  On  the 
following  day,  two  or  three  others  came  in  to  see  and  to  ac- 
knowledge the  heir  of  their  ancient  kings  :  one  Stephen  Poi- 
tron,  and  one  John  Walter  or  O' Walter,  among  the  rest. 
They  had  both  served  under  King  Edward,  and  required  no 
arguments  to  convince  them  when  they  looked  in  the  youth's 
face.  In  truth,  he  never  sought  to  convince  ;  for  he  knew  his 
own  truth  too  well  to  doubt  that  it  was  apparent  to  others. 
By  the  advice  of  those  who  surrounded  him,  however,  he 
wrote  letters  to  the  Earls  of  Desmond  and  Kildare,  telling  his 
birth,  his  history,  and  his  claims  ;  but  those  great  leaders  were 
cowed  by  the  superior  fortune  of  Henry.  They  remembered 
the  result  of  Simnel's  attempt ;  and  that  which  Richard  of 
York  had  laughed  at  as  a  boy  now  proved  the  greatest  obsta- 
cle to  his  own  success.  Kildare  and  Desmond  answered  cold- 
ly :  they  came  not  to  see  him ;  they  sought  not  to  judge  of 
his  rights ;  they  left  him  to  establish  them,  if  he  could  ;  to 
fail,  if  such  were  God's  will. 

Few  gathered  round  him,  though  now  one,  now  another, 
who  had  been  attached  to  his  family  in  former  days,  acknowl- 
edged his  claim,  and  formed  a  little  court  around  him  in  Cork. 
No  rising  in  his  favor  showed  itself :  no  army  waited  his  com- 
mand ;  and  the  hope  which  his  speedy  recognition  had  gen- 
erated waxed  faint  and  more  faint,  till  it  well-nigh  died  out 
altogether. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  became  the  question.  What  step 
was  to  be  taken  to  win  and  to  convince  ?  No  one  had  yet 
appeared  to  deny  his  right,  no  one  to  resist  his  progress ;  but 
few,  very  few,  were  there  to  support  his  title  ;  few  to  promise 
success  to  his  efforts  against  a  mighty  enemy. 

It  was  proposed  that  he  should  once  more  abandon  the  do- 
minions of  his  fathfer,  and  seek  safety  in  obscurity  again ;  but 

C2 


58  DARK   SCENE.S   OF   HISTORY. 

the  gleam  of  sunshine  was  coming,  the  only  gleam  that  was 
to  brighten  his  dark  existence. 

The  utter  neglect  with  which  his  pretensions  had  been 
treated  by  the  English  court  had  not  been  favorable  to  him. 
A  just  cause  almost  always  gains  by  resistance  :  even  an  un- 
just cause,  sometimes.  But  Henry's  inactivity  did  not  pro- 
ceed from  apathy  ;  he  miscalculated,  and  judged  that  the  ap- 
pearance in  Ireland  of  a  new  claimant  to  the  throne  was  only 
a  stratagem  to  divert  him  from  his  designs  against  France. 
He  suffered  a  whole  month  to  elapse,  without  heeding  the 
rumors  which  reached  his  ears,  and  which  began  to  spread 
dangerously  among  the  English  nobility.  He  even  went  on 
grinding  his  own  subjects  with  excessive  exactions,  making 
them  look  round  on  every  side  for  relief  from  the  tyranny  of 
his  avarice. 

I  have  said  that  this  indifference  was  unfavorable  to  Rich- 
ard Plantagenet.  Noise  and  activity  are  the  most  seducing 
baits  to  the  multitude.  No  opposition  was  shown  to  Rich- 
ard's claim,  and  consequently  there  came  few  to  support  it. 
^Desmond  would  not  move.  Kildare  was  silent.  The  great 
body  of  the  people  stood  aloof  There  seemed  nothing  but 
exile  or  death  before  the  prince ;  and  the  last  hope  of  the 
house  of  York  was  going  out,  when  one  day  there  arrived  at 
Cork  a  French  vessel  of  war,  with  a  gentleman  of  that  coun- 
try, who  took  upon  himself  the  character  of  embassador.  His 
name  was  Trion.  He  spoke  English  well,  and  had  formerly 
been  French  secretary  to  King  Henry  VII.  He  had  quitted 
the  court  of  that  monarch  on  some  disgust,  had  visited  Paris, 
and  now  his  first  inquiries  were  for  Richard,  duke  of  York. 

All  the  people  of  the  town  were  surprised  at  the  event,  for 
their  interest  in  the  youth  had  died  away,  and  most  men  were 
inchned  to  give  up  his  cause  as  hopeless.  But  when  the  news 
spread  that  a  French  embassador  had  arrived,  acknowledging, 
on  behalf  of  his  royal  master,  the  claims  of  the  young  man, 
who  so  strongly  resembled  the  gallant  Edward  IV.,  a  marvel- 
ous change  took  place  in  the  minds  of  men.  Adherents  began 
to  come  in.  Knights  and  gentlemen  thronged  to  see  the  heir 
of  Plantagenet.  Support  was  promised,  and  enthusiasm  be- 
gan to  raise  up  her  fiery  head.  The  advisers  of  Richard  of 
York,  however,  knew  how  little  such  promises  are  ever  to  be 
depended  upon,  and  the  envoy  of  the  French  king  had  con- 
veyed to  him  an  invitation  which  held  out  brighter  prospects 
for  the  future.  Charles  VIII.  be.sought  him  to  visit  his  court 
in  Paris,  and  put  himself  under  the  protection  of  one  capable 


ENGLAND— PER  KIN    WARBECK.  59 

of  assisling  and  supporting  effectually.  The  youth  took  leave 
of  his  Irish  friends  with  tender  kindness,  promised  to  return  to 
them  when  his  plan  should  be  matured  by  consultation  with 
his  great  protector,  and  sailed  away  for  France  with  the  light 
of  hope  upon  his  sails. 

It  may  be  that  the  heart  of  Richard  Plantagenet  beat  with 
many  emotions  as  he  entered  the  gates  of  the  city  of  Paris. 
He  might  feel  hope,  he  might  feel  expectation,  but  he  might 
feel  that  doubt,  that  fear  springing  Irom  uncertainty,  which 
agitates  more  than  the  presence  of  apparent  danger. 

How  should  he  be  received  by  the  King  of  France  ?  That 
was  a  question  upon  which  much  depended.  If  heartily  ac- 
knowledged, though  ultimate  success  might  not,  indeed,  be  se- 
cured, that  for  which  every  noble  heart  pants  most  eagerly 
was  gained  :  the  means  of  struggling  vigorously  for  a  right. 
If,  on  the  contrary,  he  were  met  coldly,  his  title  questioned, 
his  descent  subjected  to  carping  objections,  there  was  nothing 
to  look  forward  to  but  doubt  and  difficulty,  and  the  delay 
which  makes  the  heart  sick. 

He  might,  indeed,  feel  agitated,  but  he  did  not  show  it ; 
and  he  rode  on,  accompanied  by  his  small  train,  with  calm 
and  easy  dignity.  His  face  was  grave,  but  not  sad.  His  look 
was  thoughtful,  but  not  anxious.  All  fears,  however,  were 
dispelled  from  the  moment  of  his  entrance  into  the  palace. 
The  young  king  met  him  in  the  lower  hall,  and  embraced 
him  as  a  brother  ;  he  led  him  by  the  hand  to  the  presence  of 
his  new"^  bride,  the  heiress  of  Brittany  ;  he  acknowledged  him 
at  once  as  Richard  Plantagenet,  duke  of  York,  if  not  King  of 
England ;  and  had  any  one  who  saw  the  two  young  princes 
standing  together  been  asked  at  that  moment  which  Nature 
intended  for  a  king,  the  reply  must  certainly  have  pointed  to 
the  young  exile  who  sought  a  refuge  within  those  walls. 
Apartments  in  the  palace  were  assigned  to  him ;  a  guard  was 
appointed  to  attend  upon  him  ;  and  daily  from  that  moment 
his  own  countrj^men,  disgusted  with  the  conduct  of  the  miser 
king  they  had  chosen,  or  convinced  of  the  rights  of  Edward's 
son,  flocked  to  the  little  court  he  now  held  in  Paris. 

Those  were  bright  and  happy  days.  The  French  courtiers 
imitated  the  demeanor  of  their  monarch  ;  nothing  was  talked 
of  but  asserting  Richard's  claim  in  arms ;  and  letters  were 
received,  signed  by  several  of  the  proudest  names  of  England, 
giving  assurance  that  there  was  still  many  a  sword  ready  to 
Btart  from  the  sheath  in  defense  of  the  house  of  York. 

They  were  bright  days ;  but  clouds  were  upon  the  «dge  of 


60  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

the  sky,  and  the  stonn  was  coming  on  the  gale.  The  poor  lad 
nttle  knew  that,  while  all  seemed  so  fair  and  blossoming,  the 
crooked  canker-worm  of  policy  was  gnawing  the  heart  of  the 
rose.  Maximilian,  the  German  emperor,  was  arming  to  take 
vengeance  upon  the  King  of  France  for  a  double  injury  :  his 
bride*  snatched  from  him,  and  his  daughter, t  betrothed  to  the 
same  prince,  cast  off  and  despised.  Henry  VII.  of  England 
menaced  Charles  on  the  other  side,  talked  loudly  of  war  and 
conquest,  and  the  revenge  of  injuries. 

Led  by  ambition  toward  other  scenes,  given  up  to  the  en- 
joyment of  present  pleasure,  and  finding  neither  strength  nor 
union  in  France  to  struggle  with  the  two  mightiest  monarchs 
of  the  day,  Charles  saw  the  storm  which  menaced  him  with 
alarm,  and  prepared  to  avert  it  by  any  concession.  Richard 
Plantagenet  had  been  invited  to  Paris  as  a  menace  to  the 
King  of  England.  He  was  now  destined  to  be  sacrificed  as 
an  atonement  to  his  enemy.  The  negotiations  for  the  Peace 
of  Etaples  were  conducted  rapidly.  Clause  after  clause  was 
agreed  to.  Only  one  more  point  remained  to  be  demanded 
and  conceded  :  the  surrender  of  Richard  of  York  into  the 
hands  of  Henry. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

t 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

There  had  .been  a  busy  day  at  the  court  of  France.  Mes- 
sengers had  come  and  gone.  Many  letters  had  been  written ; 
and  a  reception  at  the  palace,  which  had  been  fixed  for  that 
night,  was  suddenly  put  off.  Richard  Plantagenet  was  in  his 
chamber  alone,  sketching  out  with  no  unskillful  hand,  and  in 
no  unkingly  terms,  a  proclamation  to  be  addressed  to  the  peo- 
ple of  England  on  landing  to  claim  the  crown  of  his  ancestors. 

There  was  a  gentle  and  quiet  knock  at  his  door,  and  he 
bade  the  visitor  come  in.     The  door  opened.     The  tapestry 

•  Anne  of  Brittany,  who  had  been  actually  married  by  proxy,  with 
•ome  very  extraordinary  and  indecent  ceremonies,  to  the  Emperor 
Maximilian. 

t  Margaret  of  Austria,  betrothed  to  the  King  of  France,  and  actually 
in  Pans. 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  61 

was  pushed  aside,  and,  to  the  surprise  of  the  young  prince,  he 
saw  a  cordelier  enter.  He  knew  the  man  well.  He  was  Fa- 
ther Maillard,  a  celebrated  preacher,  and  the  confessor  of  the 
king,  but  one  who  meddled  with  policy  fully  as  much  as  re- 
ligion, and  who,  it  is  said,  betrayed  the  interests  of  France  to 
the  seductions  of  Spain. 

He  bore  a  very  reverend  character,  however ;  and  the  youth 
greeted  him  with  all  respect,  kissed  his  hand,  and  besought  him 
to  be  seated. 

The  friar  wore  a  grave  and  sorrowful  air.  It  was  clear 
some  unpleasant  intelligence  was  coming ;  but  Richard  was 
not  prepared  for  the  whole. 

"  I  have  a  very  painful  task  to  perform,  my  son,"  said  the 
old  man,  looking  upon  him  ruefully.  "  You  have,  of  course, 
heard  that  a  treaty  of  peace  is  about  to  be  concluded  between 
England  and  France  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  father,"  answered  the  youth,  with  a  grave 
and  somewhat  stern  air.  "  Methinks  I  ought  to  have  heard 
it,  but  I  have  not.  I  suppose  I  am  to  read  your  words,  that 
a  treaty  of  peace  is  about  to  be  concluded  between  King 
Charles,  my  friend,  and  Henry  Tudor,  my  enemy." 

"  Even  so,"  answered  the  old  man,  mildly,  taking  no  no- 
tice of  the  indignant  tone  in  which  the  other  spoke.  "  The 
state  of  France,  his  duty  to  his  people,  the  menacing  aspect  of 
many  neighboring  powers,  compels — for  I  will  not  use  a  lighter 
term — my  sovereign,  Charles,  to  make  great  sacrifices  to 
avert  the  dangers  which  menace  his  monarchy." 

"  Methinks,  were  I  king  of  the  French  nation,"  replied 
Richard,  "  no  dangers  would  be  found  gi-eat  enough  to  induce 
me  to  ally  myself  with  an  usurper,  who  has  ever  shown  him- 
self an  enemy^to  the  ruin  of  hopes  I  had  nourished,  and  the 
injury  of  one  whom  I  had  promised  to  be^friend." 

"  You  know  not,  my  son,  what  conduct  might  be  forced 
upon  you  were  you  in  such  circumstances,"  answered  the 
friar  with  the  same  gentle  manner.  "  France  is  strong,  and 
able  to  cope  with  any  neighboring  kingdom  single-handed,  but 
not  with  a  great  coalition  against  her.  England,  the  empire, 
and  Aragon  have  been  all  united  for  her  destruction.  The 
English,  on  the  west,  were  ready  to  sweep  her  coasts,  ay, 
and  to  carry  war  into  the  heart  of  the  land.  The  Aragon- 
ese,  in  the  south,  were  prepared  to  pour  down  into  the  fertile 
plains  of  Gascony  and  Languedoc,  The  emperor,  on  the  east 
and  north,  was  already  in  the  field.  Peace  has  been  pur- 
chased— for  I  must  not  call  it  gained — by  immense  sacrifices. 


62  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

by  enormous  payments  in  gold,  by  the  cession  of  Artoise,  and 
Franche  Comte,  by  the  surrender  of  Roussillon  ;  and  I  must 
now  add,  it  can  only  be  ratified  by  a  greater  sacrifice  still." 

"  He  would  not  give  me  up  to  my  enemy !"  exclaimed 
Richard  Plantagenet,  now  grasping,  in  some  degree,  the  old 
man's  meaning.  "  He  has  not  invited  me  hither  to  violate 
in  my  person  the  rights  of  princes,  his  own  solemn  word  and 
plighted  faith,  the  laws  of  hospitality,  and  the  rules  of  honor  I 
I  will  not  believe  it." 

"  There  you  do  him  right,"  replied  the  confessor.  "  He 
has  not  done,  he  does  not  propose  to  do  any  of  these  things 
you  mention.  You  are  not  even  named  in  the  treaty,  and 
never,  to  my  knowledge,  have  been  spoken  of  in  the  negotia- 
tions. But  the  treaty  must  be  signed  to-morrow ;  and  after 
that  the  king  can  not  guarantee  your  safety.  He  has  sent 
me  to  warn  you  of  the  fact." 

"  My  safety  from  what  danger  ?"  asked  the  unfortunate 
prince.  "If  he  withdraws  not  his  countenance  and  friend- 
ship for  me,  from  all  other  dangers  I  will  guard  myself" 

**  Nay,  my  son,  listen  to  reason,"  said  the  cordelier.  "  In 
regard  to  political  events  near  at  hand,  it  needs  no  prophet- 
ical spirit  to  tell  what  will  happen.  Both  you  and  I  can 
easily  foresee  what  will  be  demanded  of  the  King  of  France 
as  soon  as  this  treaty  is  signed.  King  Henry  will  require  that 
you  should  be  given  up  to  him." 

"  And  will  he  consent  ?"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  **  Will 
he  so  betray  the  rights  of  hospitality,  forfeit  his  pHghted  word, 
debase  the  kingly  office,  and  bring  contempt  upon  the  crown 
of  France  ?" 

"  What  can  he  do  ?"  inquired  the  friar. 

"  Reject  the  demand  with  scorn,"  rephed  the  young  man. 
"  Tell  the  usurper  of  my  throne  that  Charles  of  France  is 
not  his  servant.  Tell  him  that  knights  and  gentlemen,  to 
say  naught  of  monarchs,  do  not  sully  their  honor  and  disgrace 
their  name  at  the  bidding  of  any  man." 

"  And  bring  war  and  bloodshed  upon  the  whole  realm  of 
France,"  said  the  monk,  in  a  somewhat  sterner  tone  ;  "  true, 
had  he  no  one  to  consult  but  his  own  courage,  or  rather  his 
own  rashness,  he  might  commit  such  unchristian  folly,  might 
see  his  fair  fields  laid  waste,  his  people  slaughtered,  his  towns 
sacked  and  burned,  merely  lor  what  men  call  a  point  of  honor ; 
but,  happily  for  France,  he  must  consult  his  council,  who  have 
already  advised  him  to  pay  many  hundred  thousand  crowns 
to  avert  the  threatened  evil.     On  their  decision  he  must  act ; 


ENGLAND—PERI^IN    WARBECK.  68 

and  it  is  a  kind  deed  of  him  to  give  you  timely  warning,  be- 
fore a  demand  is  made  which  all  men  must  see  he  can  not 
venture  to  reject." 

The  young  man  bent  his  head,  and  sat  silent  for  several 
minutes  in  bitter  thought.  At  length  he  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
as  if  speaking  to  himself, 

"The  unfortunate  have  few  friends,  and  none  steadfast." 

"  He  shows  himself  your  friend  in  thus  forewarning  you," 
answered  the  confessor.  "  Many  a  man  in  his  situation  would 
have  told  you  naught,  but  would  have  sacrificed  you  at  once 
to  the  interests  of  his  kingdom.  He,  however,  gives  you  time- 
ly notice  of  a  danger ;  nay,  more,  he  offers  you  the  means  of 
avoiding  it." 

"  And  how  ?"  demanded  Richard  Plantagenet.  "  By  be- 
coming once  more  a  homeless  outcast,  by  wandering  away 
unprotected,  to  fall  a  ready  prey  into  the  hands  of  my  fierce, 
ruthless  enemy,  whose  attention  has  been  awakened  to  my 
existence  and  my  claims,  while  the  King  of  France  has  kept 
me  at  his  court,  filling  me  with  vague  promises  and  unsub- 
stantial hopes.  Oh,  hapless  fortune  I  Doomed  from  my 
earliest  years  to  sorrow  and  adversity,  mourning  for  my  fa- 
ther's death  is  among  my  first  remembrances,  and  then  comes 
a  long  imprisonment  and  a  still  longer  exile,  my  brother's 
throne  usurped,  my  own  fortune,  exile  and  obscurity,  and  now 
the  downfall  of  all  my  expectations,  built  upon  a  monarch's 
word  and  the  promises  of  a  pretended  friend." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  young  sir,"  rejoined  the  priest,  "  both 
in  regard  to  the  acts  and  to  the  intentions  of  the  king.  He 
does  not  send  you  back  to  poverty  and  to  exile.  He  does  not 
wish  you  to  wander  away  unprotected,  to  fall  a  prey  into  the 
hand  of  your  enemy.  He  advises  you — for  he  has  no  right  to 
command — to  betake  yourself  to  the  court  of  your  nearest  re- 
lation out  of  England,  Margaret  of  York,  duchess  of  Burgun- 
dy and  regent  of  Flanders.  He  will  furnish  you  M'ith  abund- 
ant means  to  reach  the  territory  under  her  rule  in  a  state 
becoming  your  birth  ;  and  he  will  have  you  safely  escorted  to 
the  frontier,  so  that  no  evil  can  befall  you.  This  is  surely 
all  that  you  can  expect." 

The  young  man  sighed  deeply,  and  bent  his  head.  He 
saw  that  the  conduct  of  Charles  was  decided.  There  was 
no  hope  that  any  thing  he  could  say  would  change  the  king's 
resolution,  and  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Well,  as  it  may  be  no  better,  I  must  even  submit.  When 
does  the  king  wish  that  I  should  depart  ?" 


64  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

"  The  treaty  will  be  signed  to-morrow  at  noon,"  repli«d  the 
priest.  "  No  one  can  tell  how  soon  after  the  demand  may  be 
made.  Perhaps,  even  now,  the  English  envoys  have  their 
commands  to  require  your  surrender  as  soon  as  the  negotia- 
tions have  terminated,  when,  they  know  that  such  a  demand 
can  not  be  refused." 

*'  It  were  better,  you  would  say,  that  I  should  go  at  once," 
answered  Richard,  rising.     "  Be  it  so.     I  am  ready." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  son,  no  such  haste,"  said  Father  Maillard, 
resuming  his  gentler  tone,  now  that  the  object  was  attained. 
"  To-morrow  morning  will  be  time  enough.  Then  you  had 
better  go,  and  as  privately  as  possible." 

"  Good  !"  answered  Richard.  "  But  I  will  beseech  the 
King  of  France  to  recompense  my  page  and  my  other  attend- 
ants. They  have  been  very  faithful  to  me,  and  love  me  well, 
I  believe.  Some  small  gratuity,  too,  I  would  crave  for  the 
guard  who  have  had  in  charge  to  protect  the  King  of  En- 
gland. Another  King  of  England  is  acknowledged  now.  So 
farewell  to  the  first  recognition  of  my  rights ;  lor  the  favor 
of  this  world  passeth  away." 

He  spoke  in  a  low  and  melancholy  tone,  with  an  air  of  grave 
dignity,  but  no  bitterness  ;  and  even  Maillard  was  moved. 

"  Your  page  is  doubtless  ready  to  go  with  you,  my  lord," 
he  replied;  "and  you  had  better  take  two  of  your  other  at- 
tendants at  the  least." 

••  Where  shall  they  find  a  living  with  such  a  one  as  I  am  ?" 
asked  the  unhappy  prince.     "  I  am  but  a  poor  exile,  father." 

"  For  such  expenses  as  that,"  said  the  confessor,  "  the  king 
has  made  provision  sufficient.  The  enormous  sums,  indeed, 
which  he  is  obliged  to  disburse  to  satisfy  the  King  of  England 
— six  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  crovms  of  gold  on  one 
account,  and  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  on  another 
— will  leave  his  treasury  well-nigh  empty." 

The  young  man  murmured  something  to  himself  which  the 
cordelier  did  not  or  would  not  hear.  The  words  were,  "  Is 
France  fallen  so  low  !" 

The  other,  however,  proceeded,  saying,  "  He  has,  neverthe- 
less, sufficient  left  to  provide  for  the  maintenance  of  a  friend. 
Here  you  will  find,"  and  he  drew  a  leathern  bag  from  be- 
neath his  gown,  "  the  sum  of  two  thousand  five  hundred  crowns 
of  the  sun.  In  the  top  there  is  also  a  paper,  which,  on  being 
presented  to  Aaron  Ardenheim,  the  Jew  of  Ghent,  will  pro- 
cure for  you  an  equal  sum."  He  laid  the  bag  upon  the  table, 
•aying,  "  And  now,  my  son,  farewell." 


ENGLAND— PBRKIN  WARBECK.  65 

"  Stay,  stay !"  cried  the  young  prince,  gazing  at  the  monej 
with  a  look  of  doubt  and  hesitation.  "  I  can  not  take  this 
gold." 

**  Take  it,  my  son,  take  it,"  said  Maillard,  "  and  because 
my  royal  master  can  not  do  all  for  you  that  he  could  wish 
and  desire,  do  not  reject  that  which  his  friendship  and  his 
kindness  offers.  Take  it,  I  say ;  and  let  it  be  a  warrant  to 
you  that  his  heart  is  with  you,  and  that  in  happier  days,  when 
the  dangers  which  surround  him  have  passed  away,  you  may 
find  in  him  all  you  hoped  and  expected.*' 

"  Ha  !"  cried  Richard  Plantagenet,  with  a  brighter  look  ; 
"  if  I  am  so  to  read  the  gift,  right  willingly  do  I  take  it,  and 
gratefully  do  I  thank  him.  So  express  me  to  him,  father ;  and 
now  farewell!" 

How  eagerly  the, heart  of  youth  grasps  at  the  fallacies  of 
hope. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

There  was  a  gay  and  brilliant  court  assembled  in  the  good 
old  town  of  Mahnes.  The  coming  of  the  young  archduke  was 
expected  daily ;  and  the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Burgundy,  regent 
of  Flanders  and  Brabant,  had  left  Brussels  to  meet  him  on 
the  way  by  which  he  came.  Well  and  firmly  had  the  sister 
of  Edward  IV.  of  England  governed  the  territory  intrusted 
to  her  care ;  well  had  she  fulfilled  every  duty  of  her  high 
station  :  the  humble  and  obedient  wife  of  an  impetuous  and 
violent  prince:  more  than  a  mother  to  his  daughter  by  his 
first  marriage,  after  that  prince's  death ;  and  a  mother  to  his 
daughter's  children,  when  an  early  fate  snatched  the  amiable 
and  unfortunate  Mary  from  a  people  who  had  too  late  learned 
to  love  her.  Wise,  prudent,  and  gentle,  yet  firm  and  coura- , 
geous,  she  had  successfully  triumphed  over  many  difficulties, 
and  won  the  respect  and  affection,  even  of  a  turbulent  and 
never  contented  people.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  her  court, 
surrounded  by  all  the  high  nobility  of  the  realm,  making  va- 
rious arrangements  for  some  of  the  approaching  ceremonies, 
when  a  letter  was  brought  to  her  by  one  of  her  own  attend- 


66  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

ants,  who  informed  her  that  the  messenger  was  waiting  in 
the  hall  below. 

The  princess  smiled  as  she  read  the  contents  of  the  epistle ; 
and,  turning  to  the  Prince  de  Chimay,  who  was  standing  near 
her,  she  said, 

"  Read,  Monsieur  de  Chimay.  Here  is  a  new  pretender 
started  up  to  claim  the  crown  of  England  from  Henry  Tudor. 
He  calls  himself  Richard  of  York ;  but  it  is  strange  that 
Margaret  of  York  should  never  have  heard  of  her  lost  nephew 
for  so  many  years,  if  he  were  really  living  near  her,  as  this 
letter  says." 

The  Prince  de  Chimay  took  the  lettex  and  read  it ;  but  he 
lid  not  smile. 

"  This  is  the  young  prince,  madam,"  he  said,  "  whom  we 
have  heard  of  before  when  he  was  at  the  court  of  the  King 
of  France.  A  rumor  reached"  me  the  other  day  that  Charles 
had  meanly  sacrificed  him  to  Henry  of  Ric^ond,  and,  not 
contented  with  paying  immense  sums  of  money  as  the  price 
of  peace,  had  thrown  his  honor  and  good  faith  also  into  the 
scale.     I  suppose  your  grace  will  see  the  young  man." 

"  Not  I,"  answered  Margaret.  "  This  is  a  second  Simnel, 
depend  upon  it.  Richard  of  York  perished  in  the  Tower,  I 
do  believe,  although  it  is  true  that,  about  the  time  of  Bosworth 
Field,  a  rumor  reached  me,  countenanced  in  some  degree  by 
my  brother  Edward's  widow,  that  her  youngest  son  was  alive 
and  had  escaped.  I  judged  it  merely  a  report  spread  by  that 
politic  lady,  to  act  as  some  sort  of  check  upon  Henry  Tudor. 
But  this  is  an  impostor,  depend  upon  it." 

"  Methinks  it  were  as  well,"  said  the  Lord  of  Solre,  a  man 
famous  for  his  knowledge  of  the  feudal  law,  and  afterward 
Chancellor  of  Burgundy,  *'  methinks  it  were  as  well  that  your 
highness  should  see  this  young  man,  in  order  that  we  may  be 
resolved  what  ground  there  is  for  his  pretensions.  If  there  be 
even  a  chance  that  he  is  your  nephew,  you  will  thus  make 
sure  that  you  have  no  cause  for  self-reproach  hereafter.  Doubt- 
less, minute  inquiry  into  the  circumstances  of  his  tale  will 
speedily  show  its  truth  or  falsehood." 

"  Well,  I  will  see  him,"  answered  the  duchess,  "  and  soon 
expose  the  imposture.  Richard  of  York  was  old  enough  at 
his  father's  death  to  recollect  right  well  many  whom  I  myself 
remember  ;  and  if  I  question  him  about  my  brother's  ♦court, 
this  lad  will  soon  display  his  ignorance — unless,  indeed,  which 
I  dare  not  believe,  he  be  indeed  my  royal  brother's  child. 
Write  to  him,  Monsieur  de  Solre.     Say  boldly  that  I  believe 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBBCK.  67 

not  his  story,  but  will  see  him  to-morrow  at  the  court  of  Brus- 
sels, if  he  desires  it.  But  bid  hira  not  present  himself  to  me 
without  consideration,  as  I  will  take  means  to  probe  his  story 
to  the  bottom." 

The  letter  was  written,  and  the  court  assembled  on  the 
following  day  at  Brussels.  Expectation  was  high.  Some 
.^  *  said  the  pretender  would  not  appear ;  others  that  he  would 
come  and  be  exposed  ;  but  there  were  several  who  remarked 
that  it  was  not  likely  King  Charles  and  his  council  should 
even  for  a  time  acknowledge  the  young  man  as  Richard  of 
York,  unless  he  brought  pregnant  proofs  that  he  really  was 
so.  Orders  had  been  given  to  admit  him  to  the  presence  of 
the  duchess ;  and  many  of  her  wisest  and  most  experienced 
counselors  were  assembled  round  her. 

Richard  Plantagenet  did  not  make  her  wait.  The  great 
door  of  the  hall  was  thrown  open  within  five  minutes  after 
Margaret  had  entered  ;  and  the  young  claimant  of  the  English 
crown  was  introduced,  accompanied  by  two  English  gentle- 
men of  good  repute,  but  no  great  fortune,  who  had  followed 
him  from  Paris. 

He  was  very  plainly  dressed.  There  was  neither  gold  nor 
embroidery  to  set  off  his  person  to  advantage  ;  nothing  gaudy 
or  factitious  in  his  costume.  But  the  eye  of  Margaret  fixed 
earnestly  upon  hira  ;  and  those  who  watched  her  countenance 
saw  that  she  turned  deadly  pale. 

She  was  herself  again  in  a  moment ;  and,  lifting  her  head 
proudly,  she  said,  "  How  is  it,  sir,  that  you  venture  to  present 
yourself  before  me,  endeavoring  to  impose  uponlne  with  a  tale 
which  would  not  deceive  a  child  1  The  persuasions  of  my 
unfortunate  nephew,  Lincoln,  induced  me  once  to  render  some 
assistance  to  an  impostor  whom  I  had  never  seen,  and  whose 
claims  1  could  not  try  ;  but  it  is  a  very  different  thing  to  come 
boldly  into  my  presence  claiming  to  be  my  brother's  son,  when 
I  have  every  means  of  discovering,  exjjosing,  and  punishing 
the  cheat.  In  compassion  for  your  youth,  I  advise  you  to  re- 
tire at  once,  and  not  to  risk  the  consequences  which  will  cer- 
tainly fall  upon  you  if  you  force  me  to  investigate  your  pre- 
tensions, and  they  prove  false." 

Richard  listened  calmly,  with  his  eyes  bent  down  ;  and  once 
there  came  a  quick  flush  upon  his  cheek,  as  if  he  were  some- 
what moved  with  anger  ;  but  the  instant  she  had  done  speak- 
ing he  raised  his  eyes  to  her  face,  and  gazed  at  her  steadily, 
while  he  replied, 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  if  I  do  not  retire,"  he  said ;  "  for,  to 


68  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

do  so,  after  your  words,  would  be  to  acknowledge  guilt  of  which 
I  am  unconscious.  I  will  own  that  you  have  good  cause  to 
doubt ;  for  the  precautions  taken  to  insure  my  safety  have  now 
the  effect  of  throwing  doubt  upon  my  rights.  Knowing,  how- 
ever, what  those  rights  are,  I  should  be  wanting  in  duty  to 
myself  did  I  not  beseech  you  to  investigate  my  claim  with 
the  utmost  strictness.  I  stand  before  you  declaring  myself  to 
be  Richard,  duke  of  York — or,  rather,  King  of  England,  if  my 
brother  Edward  be  really  no  more — the  son  of  your  royal  and 
victorious  brother  Edward  IV.,  and,  consequently,  your  neph- 
ew. These  are  lofty  pretensions,  I  know ;  but  I  am  willing 
that  they  should  be-tried  by  any  test  you  will.  Let  any  one 
come  forth  to  prove  who  are  my  parents,  if  Edward  was  not 
so.  Let  any  one  say  who  has  tutored  me  in  the  history  of  the 
EngUsh  kings,  and  in  the  knowledge  of  their  court  and  private 
life.  In  Lambert  Simnel's  case,  these  things  were  proved. 
Let  them  be  proved  in  mine ;  and  I  am  ready  to  submit  to 
any  punishment,  to  death  itself,  should  I  be  adjudged  a  coun- 
terfeit. Here  I  stand  in  your  own  royal  presence,  prepared  to 
meet  any  charge,  ready  to  disprove  any  accusation,  and  to 
show,  as  far  as  circumstances  have  left  me  the  power  of  show- 
ing it,  that  I  am  Richard  Plantagenet,  and  your  nephew." 

It  was  evident  to  those  who  knew  her  best  that  the  duch- 
ess was  much  moved,  though  she  strove  sternly  with  her  emo- 
tions. She  answered  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  however : 
*'  There  be  other  means,  sir,  of  trying  the  truth  or  falsehood 
of  your  tale.  It  would  require  too  much  time,  and,  I  may  add, 
too  much  troubfe,  in  a  case  like  this,  to  trace  out  your  previous 
history,  to  investigate  who  was  your  real  father,  where  you 
were  brought  up,  how  you  were  tutored.  First,  if  you  are 
Edward's  son,  you  have  doubtless  not  forgotten  your  native 
language.  Though  you  speak  French  well,  it  is  with  the  ac- 
cent of  a  foreign  land,  methinks  that  of  Flanders." 

•'  Oh  no,  madam,"  answered  Richard  at  once,  in  EngUsh  ; 
"  it  must  be  with  that  of  England  ;  for  I  know  no  Flemish. 
The  French  tongue  I  have  acquired  of  late  years ;  but  En- 
glish is  my  native  language." 

"  It  seems  so,  indeed,"  said  the  duchess,  musing.  "  You 
speak  it  well,  too.  Your  education  has  not  been  neglected. 
But  there  are  other  matters.  At  the  period  of  the  death  of 
Edward  IV.  of  England,  his  son  Richard,  duke  of  York,  was 
old  enough  to  remember  now,  were  he  still  alive,  many  a  thing 
concerning  his  father's  court,  many  a  minute  particular  by 
ivhich  the  truth  of  your  tale  may  bo  easily  ascertained  ;  for 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBEOK.        69 

such  intimate  knowledge  as  would  deceive  me  could  not  be 
acquired.  If  you  are  Richard  of  York,  you  must  well  recol- 
lect your  father's  court,  many  of  those  who  dwelt  therein, 
what  happened  after  your  father's  death,  what  took  place  in 
the  Tower,  your  mother's  person  and  appearance,  your  uncle's, 
and  those  of  several  near  relations." 

"  I  do  remember  all  these  things,"  replied  the  young  man, 
boldly ;  "  but  yet  I  might  forget  them,  and  still  be  Duke  of 
York ;  for,  if  you  remember,  I  was  barely  nine  years  old  at 
my  father's  death,  and  in  the  ten  years  which  have  passed 
since,  all  might  well  be  lost  to  memory.  Nevertheless,  I  rec- 
ollect very  much  of  all  that  you  have  mentioned  ;  for  when  I 
parted  from  my  mother  her  last  injunction  was,  never  to  for- 
get all  that  I  then  remembered,  but  every  day  to  call  up  again 
afresh  the  scenes  and  transactions  of  my  youth,  doubtless  with 
a  view  to  such  circumstances  as  I  am  placed  in  now.  I  prom- 
ised her  to  obey  her  instructions,  and  I  have  done  so.  Some 
things  may  be  lost,  it  is  true,  but  very  little." 

*'  Lucky  that  it  is  so,"  said  the  duchess,  "  for  by  your  mem- 
ory of  such  events  can  the  reality  of  your  story  be  best  tested. 
First,  however,  let  us  hear  how  your  escape  was  efiected  from 
the  Tower.  But  speak  in  French,  that  your  reply  may  be 
heard  by  these  noble  lords  and  ladies.  I  will  testify  to  them 
that  your  English  is  such  as  few  but  an  Englishman  could 
speak." 

"My  escape  from  the  Tower,"  repUed  the  young  man, 
"  was  effected  without  any  difficulty ;  and,  indeed,  there  is 
very  little  to  tell  concerning  it,  all  was  so  easy." 

"  Why,  the  princes  were  strictly  guarded,"  replied  Margaret, 
interrupting  him  ;  "so  strictly  that  none  could  get  admission 
even  to  ascertain  whether  they  were  living  or  dead." 

"  True,"  answered  Richard.  "  I  was  very  strictly  guarded 
for  a  long  time,  separated  from  my  brother,  allowed  'to  see  no 
one,  not  even  to  walk  at  liberty  in  the  courts.  The  only  per- 
sons who  ever  visited  me  were  Robert  Brackenbury  the  gov- 
ernor, who  came  once  a  day,  and  a  man  called  Digby,  who 
brought  me  food  and  clothes,  and  sometimes  sat  and  talked 
with  me.  I  remember  well,  it  was  one  evening  of  a  hot  au- 
tumn day,  in  the  month  of  August,  I  think,  Digby  told  me 
that  there  was  a  rumor  of  a  battle  having  been  fought,  some- 
where in  the  north,  near  Leicester.  I  forgot  to  say  that  I 
had  not  seen  Brackenbury  for  many  a  day,  and  used  to  ask 
what  had  become  of  him,  when  I  was  told  that  he  had  gone 
to  the  wars.     However,  Digby,  when  he  mentioned  a  battle, 


70  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

added  that  we  should  soon  hear  more,  for  Brackenbur}%  who 
was  with  my  uncle  Richard,  would  certainly  send  intelligence, 
and  that  it  might  come  that  very  night.  I  was  curious  to 
know,  for  the  days  passed  heavily  then ;  and  I  got  upo^  the 
table,  after  he  was  gone,  and  looked  through  the  bars  of  the 
window  into  the  court.  I  saw  that  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  bustle,  and  people  moving  to  and  fro,  more  than  ordinary, 
which  amused  me,  without  either  raising  hope  or  fear,  for  I 
knew  not  that  the  gain  or  loss  of  a  battle  would  any  way  alter 
my  fate." 

"  Poor  boy,"  murmured  the  duchess,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  At  length  I  got  down,"  continued  Richard,  "  for  it  was 
growing  dark,  and  I  was  tired.  I  could  hear  people  shout- 
ing, but  could  not  distinguish  what  they  said  ;  and  I  became 
impatient  for  the  lamp  they  used  to  bring  me,  to  read  a  print- 
ed book  which  Digby  had  lent  me  two  days  before.  At  length 
I  heard  some  one  at  the  door,  and  thought  he  brought  the 
lamp ;  but  when  the  door  opened  three  men  came  in,  and  I 
was  very  much  frightened,  for  it  was  too  dark  to  see  their 
faces.  One  of  them,  however,  raised  his  voice,  saying,  '  Oh, 
my  prince,  do  you  not  remember  me  ?'  and  then  I  recollected 
the  voice  of  an  old  servant  of  my  mother's,  who  used  to  wait 
upon  the  mistress  of  the  maids.  All  that  I  remember  still 
quite  well ;  but  what  came  next  was  done  in  so  much  haste 
that  I  hardly  knew  the  particulars  even  at  the  time.  An- 
other of  the  men  was  a  monk,  one  Father  Prior  ;  and  the  third 
Uian  was  Digby.  Some  one,  however,  told  me  that  Bracken- 
bury  was  dead,  and  my  uncle  Richard  too,  and  that  I  must 
stay  there  no  longer.  They  would  not  even  let  me  wait  to 
get  clothes,  or  to  gather  together  any  of  the  things  with  which 
I  used  to  amuse  the  weaiy  days ;  but  out  we  went  through 
the  gates  and  along  many  dark  and  narrow  streets,  the  monk 
telling  me  by  the  way  many  a  thing  which  had  lately  hap- 
pened. They  took  me  to  a  large,  dark  house  by  the  river 
aide.  I  should  think  we  were  half  an  hour  in  reaching  it,  or 
more.  There  I  found  my  mother  and  my  sister,  Cecily.  Eliz- 
abeth was  not  with  them.  I  remained  but  a  short  time  there, 
though  I  thought  it  very  hard  to  be  sent  away  again ;  but  I 
was  put  into  a  boat  with  Prior  the  monk,  and  the  old  serv- 
ant Soames,  and  rowed  down  the  river  to  a  very  dirty  ship, 
which  sailed  in  a  few  hours  for  Antwerp.  Thence  we  jour- 
neyed on  to  Tournay." 

"  The  tale  is  well  devised,"  said  the  duchess,  coldly,  **  and 
'tia  clear  you  have  good  information  bo  far.     Brackenbury  was 


ENGLAiND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  71 

lieuteuaut  of  the  Tower  ;  but  that  is  matter  of  common  noto- 
riety. Dijrby,  too,  was  an  officer  of  his.  How  you  learned 
his  name  I  do  not  know.  But  tell  me  what  like  was  this 
Brackenbury.     I  have  seen  the  man,  and  remember  him." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  him  right  well,"  repHed  Richard  Plan- 
tagenet.  "I  shall  never  forget  him.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt 
man,  with  thick,  shaggy  eyebrows,  but  not  unkind  to  me, 
though  I  was  terrified  at  him  at  first.  He  had  a  large  scar 
across  his  cheek  and  lip,  and  would  sometimes  sit  and  tell  me 
how  he  had  been  wounded  in  a  battle,  in  the  service  of  the 
house  of  York." 

"  At  Barnet,"  said  the  duchess.  "  Now  let  me  hear  some 
what  more.  When  you  and  your  brother,  as  you  call  him 
were  first  seized  at  Stony  Stratford — " 

"  Stay,  madam,"  exclaimed  the  prince.  '*  I  was  not  with 
my  brother  at  Stony  Stratford.  The  way  was  this  :  m> 
brother  had  gone  into  Wales  with  my  uncle  Rivers,  before 
my  father's  death  ;  and  after  that  event  he  was  seized  at 
Stratford ;  but  I  was  still  with  my  mother ;  and  I  recollect 
quite  well  what  terror  Was  created  by  the  news  from  North- 
ampton. I  was  taken  out  of  my  bed  sound  asleep,  and  car- 
ried with  my  sisters  to  the  sanctuary  at  Westminster.  We 
had  hardly  clothes  to  cover  us,  and  no  furniture,  so  that  we 
were  forced  to  sit  upon  the  ground,  while  the  servants  brought 
us  what  was  needful  from  the  palace.  It  was  some  weeks  aft- 
er that  my  mother  was  persuaded,  by  a  tall  old  man  in  a  scar- 
let gown,  whom  she  called  your  Eminence,  to  give  me  up  to 
my  uncle  Gloucester.  Loath,  loath  was  she  to  do  it ;  and 
she  held  me  to  her  breast  long,  and  shed  many  tears  ;  but  at 
last  they  took  me  away  from  her." 

"And  then  they  carried  you  to  the  Tower,"  said  the  duch- 
ess. 

"  Your  pardon,  madam,"  replied  the  young  prince  ;  "  I 
was  first  conveyed  to  the  house  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  near 
Paul's  Church,  where  my  brother  Edward  then  was.  We 
remained  there  well-nigh  a  week,  I  think,  and  then  were  car- 
ried to  the  Tower  to  prepare  for  his  coronation,  I  have  heard 
people  speak  ill  of  ray  uncle  Gloucester,  but  to  me  he  was 
ever  kind  and  fatherly." 

The  duchess  looked  round  the  circle,  though  there  was  a 
bright  drop  swimming  in  her  eyes,  which  well-nigh  obscured 
her  sight.  The  Lord  of  Solre  bent  his  head  with  a  gentle  in- 
clination, and  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  prompt- 
ing some  further  question. 


72  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

"  Do  you  remember  your  father  well  ?"  demanded  the 
duchess. 

"Right  well,"  jeplied  the  young  man.  "He  was  taller 
than  I  am,  though  I  am  tall ;  and  I  remember  quite  well  the 
day  when  his  color  first  changed  from  a  warm,  glowing  brown 
to  a  pale  white.  I  had  been  standing  at  his  knee,  telling  him 
that  I  wanted  a  man's  bow  and  arrows,  for  that  I  should  soon 
be  strong  enough  to  compete  at  the  butts.  But  suddenly  he 
turned  very  pale,  and  called  to  one  of  the  gentlemen  behind 
to  open  a  window,  saying,  *  I  am  faint.'  " 

"  Come  to  my  heart,"  cried  the  duchess,  spreading  wide  her 
arms.  "  You  are  indeed  my  nephew,  Richard  of  York  ;"  and 
she  clasped  him  fondly  to  her  bosom  with  the  tears  falling  fast 
from  her  eyes. 

"  That  fact,"  she  continued,  after  the  emotion  had  some- 
what passed,  "  was  carefully  concealed  from  all,  lest  it  should 
create  dismay.  It  was  only  written  to  me  under  seal  of 
secrecy ;  and  I  have  never  heard  it  mentioned  by  any  one 
but  you." 

"  It  was  some  months  before  my  father's  death,"  said  Rich- 
ard ;  "  and  he  rode  out  many  times  after,  and  had  gay  meet- 
ings at  the  palace,  and  feasted  the  nobility ;  but  he  was  al- 
ways pale  from  that  day ;  and  I  remember  the  good  Lord 
Hastings  laying  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder  one  day — the 
hand  that  had  the  black  spot  on  it — and  saying,  *  Alas,  my 
prince,  I  fear  there  is  a  darker  time  coming  for  you.'  " 

"  You  are  indeed  my  nephew,"  said  the  duchess.  "  Your 
look,  your  air,  your  voice,  your  knowledge,  all  speak  for  you  ; 
and  I  acknowledge  you  as  such  ;  but  still  we  will  have  every 
inquiry  made,  and  every  means  taken,  to  remove  all  doubts, 
and  place  your  claim  upon  the  surest  footing." 

And  such  was  the  course  pursued ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PEEKIN     WARBECK. 


Another  gleam  of  sunshine,  bright  and  delusive.  But 
why  should  I  tell  all  that  it  fell  upon  ?  The  White  Rose  of 
England  was  the  name  bestowed  on  Richard  Plantagenet. 
The  court  of  Burgundy  echoed  his  praises.     His  grace,  his 


ENGLAND— PERKIN   WARBECK.  73 

beauty,  his  dignity,  were  the  theme  of  every  tongue  ;  and  his 
skill  in  sports  and  exercises  won  admiration  from  the  chiv- 
alry of  the  land.  A  train  of  gentlemen  were  appointed  to 
attend  him  as  the  officers  of  his  household.  Twenty  archers 
were  assigned  for  his  guard,  each  bearing  the  White  Rose  em- 
broidered on  his  tunic  ;  and  before  the  house  appointed  for  his 
lodging,  floated  the  banner  of  his  arms,  which,  in  the  words 
of  him  who  saw  it,  old  John  Molinet,  bore  three  leopards  and 
three  fleurs-de-lis  on  one  and  the  same  shield,  and  there,  too, 
was  his  title  in  Latin,  "  Airmi  Richardi,  principis  Walie  et 
ducis  Elborasi,  filii  et  heredis  Edouardi  quarti,  nuper  Dei 
gratia,  regis  Anglie  et  Francie,  domini  Ybernie."* 

The  rumor  spread  far  and  wide.  Many  an  exiled  English- 
man hastened  to  the  court  of  the  young  prince  ;  and  none  who 
remembered  Edward  IV.  failed  to  see  the  marvelous  re- 
semblance between  the  king  and  his  son.  The  young  arch- 
duke arrived  in  the  territories  which  had  descended  to  him 
from  his  mother ;  and  he,  too,  acknowledged  his  young  cousin 
of  York,  for  so  he  called  him,  though  the  relationship  was  but 
nominal.  But  the  report  of  these  things  spread  beyond  Flan- 
ders, and  Burgundy,  and  France.  It  reached  the  shores  of 
England.  It  was  busy  at  the  court  and  among  the  people. 
Richard  of  York  was  found.  The  rumor  which  had  been 
general  after  the  battle  of  Bosworth  Field,  that  he  had  escaped 
to  the  Continent,!  was  remembered  by  many,  and  was  now 
spoken  of  openly  as  an  established  fact. 

Men  would  fain  have  inquired  of  the  queen  dowager  if  she 
knew  of  her  son's  flight,  if  there  was  reason  to  believe  that 
he  was  still  living.  They  would  willingly  have  watched  her 
looks,  and  listened  to  her  words  when  the  pretensions  of  the 
youth  acknowledged  by  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  were  men- 
tioned in  her  presence.  But  the  policy  of  Henry  VII.  had 
insured  that  there  should  be  no  such  confirmation  of  the  tale. 
The  mother  of  Edward's  children,  and  of  his  own  queen,  on 
whose  rights  alone  rested  his  title  to  the  throne,  was  now  in 
close  confinement.  Her  estates  were  confiscated,  her  wealth 
snatched  from  her ;  and  she  had  no  means  either  of  publish- 
ing a  recognition  of  her  son's  right,  or  aiding  him  to  support 
them  in  arms.  It  is  sad  that  cuiming  should  so  often  triumph 
over  honesty. 

*  It  will  be  seen  that  this  heraldic  Latin  of  the  court  of  Burgundy 
was  not  of  the  very  purest  kind ;  but  I  have  only  ventured  to  cnange 
one  word,  substituting  Dei  for  Deo. 

t  More.     Polydore  Virgil,  page  569.     Bacon. 

D 


74  DARK   SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

But  still  the  rumor  went  forth,  still  the  belief  gained  ground. 
Secret  meetings  of  noblemen  who  had  supported  the  Wliite 
Rose  in  all  seasons  were  held,  to  deliberate  and  consult ;  and 
many  a  rich  citizen  too,  groaning  under  the  avaricious  op- 
pression of  the  miser  king,  and  remembering  with  regret  a 
more  popular,  if  not  a  more  virtuous  monarch,  talked  with  his 
neighbors  of  seeing  the  house  of  York  again  upon  the  throne, 
and  looked  with  hope  and  expectation  toward  the  shores  of 
Flanders. 

Henry  was  troubled  on  his  uneasy  throne ;  but  with  his 
shrewd,  remorseless  policy  he  prepared  against  all  events.  To 
discredit  the  pretensions  of  Richard  Plantagenet  was  one  step 
to  be  taken,  to  deprive  him  of  the  support  of  foreign  princes 
was  another,  to  strike  terror  into  the  hearts  of  those  British 
subjects  who  might  be  inclined  to  espouse  his  cause  was  a 
third.  The  first  appeared  easy.  Two  men  long  accused  of 
having  murdered  the  sons  of  Edward  IV.  in  the  Tower,  but 
who  had  been  suffered  to  remain  unpunished  by  Henry  Tudor, 
were  now  seized  and  imprisoned  ;  and  spies  were  sent  over  to 
the  Low  Countries,  to  discover  or  to  fabricate  materials  for  a 
fictitious  history  of  the  youth  who  claimed  the  crown  of  En- 
gland. Sir  James  Tyrrel  and  John  Deighton  were  kept  in 
close  confinement ;  and  who  shall  say  what  were  the  practices 
used  with  men  who  knew  their  lives  were  at  stake,  to  induce 
them  to  confess  a  crime  so  serviceable  to  royalty  ?  Nay,  more, 
who  knows  what  it  was  they  did  confess  ?  All  that  we  are 
sure  of  is,  that  a  declaration  was  published  in  their  name, 
acknowledging  that  Deighton  had  aided  one  Miles  Forest  to 
smother  the  two  young  princes,  Edward  and  Richard,  in  their 
bed,  and  had  then  called  in  Tyrrel,  by  whose  order  it  was 
done,  to  view  the  bodies,  and  witness  that  the  crime  was  com- 
plete. They  could  not  point  out  the  place,  they  said,  where 
the  corpses  were  interred,  because,  though  buried  at  the  foot 
of  the  stair-case,  they  had  afterward  been  removed  by  the 
chaplain  of  the  Tower,  and  the  priest  was  dead. 

The  tale  was  spread  abroad  by  courtly  diligence  ;*  but  all 
men  thought  it  strange,  that  persons  who  acknowledged  the 
munsier  of  their  queen's  brother  should  be  immediately  set  at 
liberty,  and  the  principal  criminal,  Tyrrel,  raised  high  in  the 
i'avor  of  the  king.f     The  reported  confession  convinced  but 

*  It  is  to  be  remarked,  that  these  confessioDS  rested  only  on  pablic 
report,  at  least  so  Lord  Bucod  implies. 

t  He  was  one  of  the  commissioners  who  concluded  the  Treaty  of 
Bstaples  with  the  French.     He  was  governor  of  Guisuea,  and  enjoyed 


ENGLAND— PERKIN   WARBECK.  75 

few ;  and  the  story  which  was  soon  circulated,  founded  upon  the 
letters  of  Henry's  spies,  that  the  youth  calling  himself  Richard 
Plantagenet,  speaking  the  English  language  perfectly,  with- 
out error  or  accent,  bearing  the  strongest  resemblance  to  Ed- 
ward, king  of  England,  demeaning  himself  in  eveiy  look  and 
gesture  as  a  prince,  was  the  son  of  a  poor  Flemish  Jew,  keep- 
ing one  of  the  gates  of  Tournay,  seemed  too  incrediole  for  even 
the  most  willing  to  believe  it. 

To  deprive  Richard  of  York  of  the  support  of  foreign  princes,- 
Henry's  measures  were  resolute,  but  not  altogether  judicious. 
Garter  king  at  arms  was  sent  to  the  court  of  Brussels,  to  de- 
nounce the  pretender  to  the  blood  of  Plantagenet,  and  insult 
him  in  the  presence  of  his  great  allies.  He  told  his  story  of 
Richard's  birth  to  the  archduke  and  the  duchess  dowager  in 
presence  of  all  the  nobles  of  the  land.  But  the  tale  was  met 
with  indignation  and  contempt  by  all ;  and  his  quality  of  a 
herald  barely  saved  the  bold  messenger  from  imprisonment. 
Next  came  an  embassador,  chosen  from  the  house  of  Somerset, 
pretending  another  object  for  his  mission.  With  all  due  rev- 
erence he  saluted  the  •  archduke,  and  paid  equal  honor  to  the 
duchess  dowager,  but  he  took  no  notice  whatsoever  of  Richard 
Plantagenet,  who  stood,  as  her  nearest  kinsman,  on  her  left 
hand. 

"  How  is  it,  sir,"  demanded  Margaret  of  York,  in  an  indig- 
nant tone,  "  that  you  know  not  my  nephew  Richard,  and  do 
not  even  bend  your  head  to  him  ?" 

"  Your  nephew  Richard,  madam,"  replied  the  embassador, 
**  has  long  since  passed  from  this  world,  and  if  you  please  to 
depute  any  one  to  examine,  I  will  bring  him  straight  to  the 
chapel  where  the  prince  is  buried." 

"  What  I"  exclaimed  the  duchess,  "  when  we  are  told  that 
the  bodies  were  removed  by  the  priest,  and  that  no  one  knows 
where  he  interred  them  ]"  - 

Richard  had  heard  the  insulting  message  delivered  by 
garter  king  at  arms  in  silent  contempt ;  but  he  now  turned 
upon  the  embassador  sharply,  saying,  "  I  shall  not  forget  your 
words,  sir,  when  I  am  seated  on  the  throne  of  England,  as  I 
trust  right  soon  to  be." 

Thus,  far  Henry  had  no  success.  Unhappily,  the  measures 
which  he  took  to  intimidate  the  nobles  of  England  were  more 

liberty  and  distinction  at  the  court  of  Henry,  till  the  year  1502,  when 
he  was  involved  in  the  disgrace  of  Suffolk,  attainted  and  beheaded. 
These  facts  are  clearly  proved;  and  Bacon's  statement  is  false  that 
Tyrrel  was  detained  in  prison. 


76  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

treacherous,  more  terrible,  and  more  successful.  A  secret 
meeting  was  held,  to  which  many  poM^erful,  brave,  and  noble 
gentlemen  came,  to  consider  how  they  should  act  toward  one 
whose  pretensions  to  the  crown  were  so  boldly  stated,  and 
whose  claims  had  been  recognized  by  a  princess  well  qualified 
to  judge  of  their  vahdity.  The  minds  of  men  were  in  great 
doubt ;  but  yet  they  leaned  to  belief.  The  Duchess  of  Bur- 
gundy was  evidently  fully  convinced.  So  had  been  the  King 
of  France ;  and  although  he  had  driven  a  prince  from  his 
court,  to  purchase  peace  from  a  great  and  powerful  adversary, 
he  had  never  admitted  that  a  deceit  had  been  practiced  on 
him,  or  asserted  that  he  had  discovered  a  flaw  in  the  title  of;. 
Richard  of  York.  One  hundred  English  gentlemen,  headed- 
by  Sir  George  Nevil,  had  acknowledged  him  publicly  in  Paris. 
More  had  recognized  his  pretensions  in  Flanders  ;  and  every 
one  admitted  that,  in  manners,  appearance,  and  language,  he 
gave  every  proof  of  the  station  and  the  birth  he  claimed.  Yet 
the  English  nobles,  before  they  periled  their  lives  in  his  cause, 
demanded  further  evidence  ;  and  this  meeting  was  called  to- 
gether to  inquire  how  it  could  be  obtained.  Among  the  rest, 
there  appeared  one  Sir  Robert  Clifford.  All  present  but  him*!K. 
self  were  by  descent  or  private  attachment  firm  adherents  of 
the  house  of  York.  He,  however,  was  Lancastrian  by  birth 
and  faction  :  the  son  of  black  Clifford,  who  slew  young  Rut- 
land. Nevertheless  they  trusted  him ;  for  he  seemed  warm 
and  zealous  in  the  cause  of  right.  He  had  often  seen  Richard 
of  York,  he  said,  as  a  boy.  He  recollected  every  feature  well ; 
and  he  would  undertake  to  go  to  Brussels,  to  see  the  youth 
of  whose  claims  they  were  doubtful,  and  make  a  true  report 
of  all  that  he  observed. 

The  offer  was  accepted  eagerly,  and  Clifford  set  out.  Ho 
was  accompanied,  or  followed  immediately,  by  two  others^- 
who  were  not  at  that  meeting,  men  of  high  name  and  station, 
but  of  little  honor  or  honesty.  Clifford,  however,  was  the 
leader  and  the  principal.  He  was  welcomed  frankly  by  the 
Duchess  of  Burgundy,  although  an  ancient  enemy  of  her 
house.  He  had  every  opportunity  of  investigation  afforded 
him.  He  saw  and  conversed  with  Richard  of  York,  and  he 
wrote  letters  to  the  Yorkist  party  in  England,  stating  that 
he  had  recognized  the  young  prince  at  once,  that  his  features 
were  little  changed,  and  that  there  remained  no  room  what- 
ever to  doubt  his  identity  with  the  son  of  Edward  IV. 

Was  CHfford  a  traitor  even  now  ?    Was  he  betraying  men 
to  their  ruin,  or  were  after  inducements  held  out,  which  won 


ENGLAND— PBRKIN  WARBBOK.       77 

him  from  truth  to  falsehood  ?  It  is  a  dark  secret,  upon  which, 
probably,  no  light  -will  ever  shine.  But  what  we  do  know  is, 
that  Henry  sent  gentleman  after  gentleman  to  the  court  of 
Brussels,  with  secret  instructions  to  insinuate  themselves  into 
the  confidence  of  Richard  Plantagenet,  to  discover  all  his  se- 
crets, and  to  learn  who  were  his  favorers  and  correspondents 
in  England.  Meanwhile,  to  cover  their  treachery,  he  pro- 
nounced them  traitors,  and  caused  the  doom  of  outlawry  to 
be  pronounced  against  them  from  the  cross  of  St.  Paul's.  He 
debased  himself  to  corrupt  servants  and  to  bribe  priests  and 
confessors,  and  he  was  but  too  successful.  The  names  of 
some  of  the  best  men  in  England  were  soon  enrolled  on  his 
black  list  of  proscription,  and  he  determined  to  strike  a  blow 
that  would  carry  terror  to  all  wavering  hearts. 

The  consummation  of  the  treachery  is  described  by  an  eye- 
witness. "  A  short  time  after,  there  arrived  at  the  court  of 
the  King  of  the  Romans,  where  the  said  Richard  was,  three 
great  personages  of  England,  seeking  refuge  with  the  said 
Richard,  and  assuring  him  that  King  Henry  had  banished 
them  from  the  kingdom,  on  account  of  their  supporting  his 
cause,  which  they  felt  to  be  just,  loyal,  and  well-founded. 
These  three  personages  were  amicably  received  by  the  said 
Richard,  and  he  made  his  principal  counselors  of  them ;  so 
much  so,  that  nothing  was  done,  either  openly  or  in  secret, 
that  did  not  pass  through  their  hands ;  and,  in  fact,  they 
worked  over  the  water  so  well,  by  sending  their  rescripts  and 
otherwise,  that  the  greatest  men  of  England  adhered  to  the 
quarrel  of  the  said  Richard,  promising  to  favor  his  descent  in 
that  country,  in  assurance  of  which  many  of  them  sent  letters 
sealed  under  their  hands,  and,  among  others,  the  high  cham- 
berlain of  King  Henry.  Altogether,  more  than  forty  prom- 
ised him  assistance,  and  forty  thousand  florins  to  sustain  his 
cause ;  and  when  the  said  letters,  under  seal,  were  given  to 
Richard,  these  three  great  lords,  by  whom  all  "business  was 
transacted,  communicated  secretly  to  Henry  that  he  should 
send  for  them,  for  it  was  time  to  return.  The  king  sent  off 
a  man  from  Calais,  who  soon  found  himself  in  the  town  of 
Malines.  Immediately,  without  regarding  day  or  hour,  they 
saddled  their  horses,  and,  possessed  of  the  said  sealed  letters 
sent  by  those  in  England,  set  out  suddenly  from  Malines, 
without  taking  leave  of  the  said  Richard ;  and,  entering  no 
large  town  lest  they  should  be  followed,  they  lodged  first  at 
Bethune,  thence  to  Calais,  and  from  Calais  toward  the  King 
of  Ensrland.'* 


78  DARK  SGENES  OF  HISTORY. 

Pity  it  is  the  historian  does  not  give  the  names  of  these 
three  gentlemen,  that  their  fame  might  find  fitting  note  in 
history.  However,  ^ir  Robert  CliJfTord  was  one  of  them ; 
and,  upon  the  information  given  by  them,  the  Lord  Fitzwal- 
ter.  Sir  Simon  de  Montfort,  Sir  Thomas  Thwaits,  Wilham 
d'Aubigny,  Robert  Ratchffe,  Thomas  Cressner,  and  Thomas 
Astwood  were  seized,  tried,  and  condemned  for  corresponding 
with  Richard,  caUing  himself  Duke  of  York.  Four  heads 
were  immediately  brought  to  the  block,  and  terror  spread 
through  the  land.  The  partisans  of  the  unhappy  prince 
learned,  in  the  trial  court  and  on  the  scaffold,  that  they  were 
betrayed,  and  knew  not  by  whom.  They  had  to  deal  on  one 
side  of  the  water  with  one  who  had  no  mercy,  and  on  the  oth- 
er with  persons  who  had  no  honor.  No  wonder  that  zeal 
grew  cold  and  doubtful. 

Suspicion,  however,  was  soon  directed  to  a  particular  ob- 
ject. On  the  7th  of  January,  1494,  Henry  held  a  council  in 
the  Tower,  at  which  Sir  William  Stanley,  the  lord  chamber- 
lain, was  present.  Henry  owed  him  much — life,  a  victory,  a 
crown  ;  but  such  men  have  no  gratitude.  Stanley  is  said  to 
have  declared  privately,  that  if  he  were  sure  the  new  claim- 
ant of  the  blood  of  York  were  really  the  son  of  Edward  IV., 
he  would  not  bear  arms  against  him,  and  that  was  treason  in 
the  eyes  of  Henry. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  deliberation.  Sir  Robert  Clifford 
presented  himself  before  the  council,  and  boldly  accused  the 
lord  chamberlain  of  treason.  Stanley  was  arrested,  tried,  and 
condemned.  But  his  execution  was  not  yet.  He  was  a  vic- 
tim of  sufficient  importance  to  be  reserved.  The  very  benefits 
he  had  conferred  upon  the  king  might  give  a  value  to  his 
death,  which  ought  not  to  be  cast  away.  If  the  king  spared 
not  him,  whom  would  he  spare  ?  And  Henry  reserved  the 
bloody  deed  for  the  fitting  moment.  All  the  partisans  of  the 
house  of  York  in  England  were  struck  with  alarm,  and  re- 
mained quiet,  fearing  to  bring  the  merciless  hand  of  power 
upon  their  heads,  or  to  aggravate  the  flte  of  Sir  Wilham 
Stanley ;  and  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  and  her  nephew, 
clearly  perceiving  that  but  little  aid  could  be  expected  from 
the  nobility  of  England,  adjourned  to  a  more  happy  time  the 
advancement  of  his  claim  upon  the  crown.  No  movements 
took  place  ;  no  ships  were  gathered  together,  no  soldiers  mus- 
tered ;  and  Henry,  judging  from  this  inactivity  that  all  in- 
terest in  the  unhappy  prince  was  at  an  end,  sent  a  solemn 
embassy  to  the  archduke,  demanding  that  the  impostor,  as  ho 
styled  him,  should  be  given  into  his  hands. 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBECK.       79 

The  reply  which  he  received  was  brief,  and  not  satisfactory. 
The  archduke's  council  answered,  that  it  was  his  wish  and 
intention  to  live  on  good  terms  with  the  King  of  England, 
and  that,  consequently,  he  would  give  no  assistance  to  the 
Duke  of  York,  but  that  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Burgundy 
was  sovereign  in  the  territories  forming  her  dowry,  and  there' 
fore  he  could  not  interfere  with  what  she  might  be  pleased  to 
do.     Thus  ended  the  matter  for  a  time. 

Richard  of  York  remained  in  Flanders  and  Brabant,  lov- 
ed, admired,  and  acknowledged.  He  took  part  in  all  the 
great  festivities  of  the  day,  and  in  all  the  ceremonies  of  that 
splendid  court,  and  never,  by  word,  look,  or  gesture,  betrayed 
that  he  was  other  than  that  which  he  appeared.  For  more 
than  two  yea^^  he  remained  under  watchful  and  clear-seeing 
eyes,  surrounded  by  spies,  and  betrayed  by  several  of  those  in 
whom  he  trusted.  Methinks  there  was  sufficient  time  to  as- 
certain if  he  were  or  were  not  the  son  of  a  Jew  of  Tournay. 
Margaret  of  York  denied  that  it  was  so.  All  her  court  rec- 
ognized the  youth  as  her  nephew.  The  lords  of  Burgundy 
and  the  princes  of  Germany  treated  him  as  the  Duke  of 
York ;  and  all  that  Henry  could  allege  to  account  for  these 
strange  facts  was,  that  Margaret,  the  amiable  and  the  kind, 
the  aunt  of  his  own  queen,  hated  him  with  so  mad  an  enmity 
that  she  sought  to  dethrone  him  and  her  niece,  only  to  place 
upon  the  throne  of  England  the  son  of  a  Jew  of  Tournay  : 
that  Margaret,  the  high-minded  and  the  dignified,  was  play- 
ing the  part  of  an  actress  on  the  stage  ;  and  that  the  son  of 
a  poor  Jew  had  been  found,  with  talents  so  consummate  as 
to  be  able  to  assume  at  once  the  character,  the  manners,  the 
language  of  a  prince ;  to  acquire  a  foreign  language  so  per- 
fectly as  to  deceive  the  nicest  ear,  and  to  learn  a  tale  filled 
with  minute  particulars,  without  ever  forgetting  one  circum- 
stance or  betraying  one  inconsistency.  Verily  the  explana- 
tion was  not  probable. 


80  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PERKIN    WARBBCK. 

There  were  commotions  in  Ghent,  riots  in  the  town  of 
Bruges :  the  people  of  Antwerp  were  discontented  and  moody ; 
and  many  a  commercial,  many  a  manufacturing  town  remon- 
strated with  the  archduke  upon  the  state  of  the  country,  and 
the  severe  injury  that  all  the  best  interests  of  the  land  were 
sustaining.  Henry  VII.  had  prohibited  all  traffic  between 
England  and  the  Netherlands.  The  great  mart  for  Flemish 
merchandise  was  closed,  and  every  branch  of  trade  suffered. 

Richard  Plantagenet  felt  that  he  was  the  cause  of  danger 
to  the  prince  and  distress  to  the  people.  He  was  hke  the  sin- 
ful prophet  in  the  tempest-tossed  ship,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  be  the  sacrifice. 

It  was  night.  The  gates  of  the  palace  at  Brussels  were 
closed ;  and  in  the  cabinet  of  the  queen  dowager,  in  close 
consultation  with  her,  sat  the  young  Archduke  PhiUp.  She 
had  still  great  influence  over  his  mind.  He  recollected  the  • 
tenderness  with  which  she  had  guarded  his  youth  ;  he  recol- 
lected the  firmness  and  wisdom  with  which  she  had  governed 
his  territories ;  and  he  was  ready  to  yield  to  her  advice  and 
bend  to  her  opinion  ;  but  yet  he  wished  to  lay  before  her  the 
representations  and  remonstrances  of  his  council  before  he 
acted  in  any  way. 

She  listened  patiently  for  some  time,  but  then  she  started 
as  if  with  some  surprise  ;  then  listened  again,  and  then  said, 
not  quite  calmly,  but  yet  in  a  subdued  tone, 

"  I  never  yet  did  know,  your  highness,  that  any  prince  sac- 
rificed his  honor,  liis  dignity,  and  his  good  faith  for  a  mere 
temporary  object  without  losing  that  he  strove  for,  and  call- 
ing down  after  pimishment  on  his  head.  If  you  have  any 
doubt  that  this  young  man  is  RiAard  of  York,  my  nephew  ; 
if  you  have  any  reason  to  believe  that  he  is  a  son  of  a  Jew  at 
Tournay ;  if  you  suspect  for  one  moment,  as  the  insolent 
Warham  ventured  to  insinuate,  that  I  have  tutored  him  to 
act  a  part,  that  I  have  concealed  aught  or  fabricated  aught, 
send  him  forth  from  these  dominions  at  once.  But  if  you 
believe  him  to  be  the  son  of  my  brother  Edward,  king  of  En- 


ENGLAND—PERKIN  WARBEOK.  81 

gland ;  if  the  minute  examination  of  his  claims  and  of  the 
false  story  of  Henry  Tudor,  into  which  we  have  entered,  is 
sufficient  to  convince  you  that  he  is  Richard  Plantagenet, 
then  you  are  bound  in  honor  to  give  him,  at  least,  shelter  here 
against  the  power  of  his  great  adversary.  The  people  of 
Ghent  have  revolted  fourteen  times  within  my  memory,  and 
the  moment  one  pretext  is  taken  from  them  they  will  find  an- 
other. Think  not  that,  by  any  unworthy  concession,  they  can 
be  rendered  peaceable  or  obedient ;  for  it  is  with  the  weak 
only  that  they  strive,  and  the  stern  and  resolute  are  their 
masters." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  low,  quiet  knock  at  the  door ; 
and,  on  permission  being  given,  Richard  Plantagenet  entered. 
He  was  received  warmly  by  the  duchess,  and  warmly,  also, 
by  the  archduke  ;  for  Philip  felt  that  he  had  dealt  somewhat 
ungenerously  with  the  youth,  in  his  wishes,  if  not  in  his  acts, 
and  he  sought  to  make  atonement.  Though  a  seat  was  placed 
near  Richard,  he  did  not  take  it,  but  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
table,  and,  with  that  mixture  of  grace  and  dignity  which  all 
cotemporaries  have  mentioned,  and  even  the  Tudor  writers 
of  a  subsequent  period  have  admitted,  he  said, 

"  I  am  happy  to  have  found  your  highnesses  together,  for  I 
have  something  to  say  to  my  two  best  friends  on  earth.  I  ex- 
pressed to  you  some  time  ago,  my  lord  archduke,  the  grief 
which  I  felt  for  the  interruption  of  commerce  between  this 
land  and  England,  knowing  that  it  had  been  inflicted  on  my 
account.  I  have  lately  heard  with  much  greater  pain  that 
the  people  of  the  good  towns  murmur,  and  show  a  rebellious 
and  disobedient  spirit.  Your  protection  of  myself  is  the  cause 
of  all  this,  and  that  cause  must  exist  no  longer.  I  do  beseech 
you  both  to  let  me  go." 

"  Nay,  nay,  that  can  not  be,"  repUed  the  archduke.  "  It 
would  bring  shame  and  disgrace  upon  my  name  to  send  away 
this  dear  lady's  nephew,  a  prince  of  the  house  of  Plantagenet^ 
of  whose  claims  there  can  be  no  doubt." 

"  No  disgrace,  mighty  prince,"  replied  Richard,  "  if  you 
send  him  not  away  disgracefully.  It  is  necessary  for  the 
peace  of  your  dominions  that  I  should  go.  This  Henry  Tu- 
dor has,  in  reality,  no  warrior's  spirit  in  his  breast.  He  was 
successful  in  one  great  battle  against  a  braver  man  than  him- 
self ;  but  he  was  successful  by  the  aid  of  those,  most  of  whom 
he  has  now  either  imprisoned  or  slain.  In  your  case,  he  dare 
not  attack  you  in  arms  for  affording  a  refuge  to  the  heir  of 
Edward  IV.,  but  he  has  cunningly  contrived  a  plan  to  arm 

D2 


82  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

your  own  subjects  against  you,  and  to  injure  you  and  oppress 
me  by  their  hands.  This  I  can  not  see  and  remain.  I  am 
eager,  as  both  you  and  this  noble  lady  know,  to  strike  a  blow 
for  the  recovery  of  my  father's  crown.  I  am  sure  that  the 
hearts  of  the  English  people  are  with  me,  and  I  believe  that 
the  terror  of  this  bloody  man's  executions  has  passed  away. 
Give,  then,  but  a  few  ships,  and  a  few  regular  soldiers. 
There  is  many"  a  gallant  heart  and  many  an  adventurous 
spirit  who  will  gladly  accompany  me,  and  I  will  not  doubt 
that,  as  Richmond,  with  an  unjust  cause,  won  the  crown 
from  my  uncle  Richard,  so  shall  I,  with  a  holy  and  a  right- 
eous cause,  win  the  crown  from  him.  Then  will  I  speak  of 
gratitude,  then  will  I  speak  of  love." 

The  archduke  looked  to  the  duchess ;  and  the  duchess  gazed 
on  him. 

"  So  be  it,  my  dear  boy,"  she  said,  at  length.  "  I  have 
long  wished  to  aid  you  in  ascending  the  throne  of  your  father ; 
but  I  alone  have  not  had  means  sufficient ;  and  this  great 
prince  was  tied  by  the  engagements  of  his  council  till  these 
hostile  measures  were  taken  by  Henry  Tudor.  Those  en- 
gagements are  now  at  an  end;  and  he  will  aid  you  well,  I 
am  sure.  I  will  leave  you  with  him  to  consult  over  the 
means ;  but  there  is  one  thing  you  must  promise  me,  which 
is,  that  if  you  are  unsuccessful  in  your  first  attempt,  you  re- 
turn to  me — do  you  promise  ?" 

"  I  do,"  replied  Richard  ;  and  the  duchess  left  the  cabinet. 

"  The  promise  I  have  given,"  said  Plantagenet,  as  soon  as 
she  was  gone,  "  must  not  prevent  your  highness  from  carry- 
ing on  negotiations  with  England,  nor  from  entering  into  any 
stipulations  consistent  with  your  own  honor,  and  tending  to 
the  benefit  of  your  people.  I  have  promised  to  return  if  un- 
successful ;  but  I  have  not  promised  to  stay.  If  I  am  suc- 
cessful, any  treaty  that  you  sign  will  be  with  me,  and  if  not, 
I  promise  you  I  will  throw  no  impediment  in  the  way  of  its 
execution." 

'•  There  spoke  the  noble  blood  of  Plantagenet,"  said  the 
young  archduke,  who,  though  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  had 
acquired  the  manners  and  demeanor  of  a  man  and  a  sover- 
eign.*    "  Your  conduct,  my  noble  friend,  would  prove  your 

*  He  was  bom  on  the  22d  of  Juno,  1478,  according  to  Molinet,  who 
announces  the  fact  in  the  fuUowins  quaint  tenns:  "During  the  time 
that  my  lord,  the  Duke  of  Austria,  kept  the  field  in  front  of  the  enemy, 
us  has  been  said,  and  labored  for  the  public  weal,  the  Duchess  of 
Austria,  his  spouse,  only  daughter  of  the  Duke  Chai'les,  whom  God  ab- 


ENGLAND— PERKIN   WARBECK.  83 

race,  were  other  proofs  wanting ;  but  now  let  us  call  in  the 
Lord  of  Bergues,  upon  whom  you  and  I  can  both  rely,  and 
consult  him  as  to  what  may  best  be  done  to  insure  success  to 
your  expedition."  ^ 

The  proposal  was  grateful  to  Richard  of  York,  for  De  Ber- 
gues had  always  been  among  his  friends  ;  and  he  was  imme- 
diately summoned. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PERKIN   WARBECK. 

On  the  3d  of  July,  1495,  the  inhabitants  of  Sandwich 
were  much  surprised  by  the  appearance  of  a  considerable  mil- 
itary force,  headed  by  the  royal  officers,  entering  the  good 
town ;  and  more  surprised  still  was  created  when  the  com- 
manders of  the  train  bands  were  called  upon  to  consult  with 
the  mayor  ^d  the  higher  military  authorities  for  the  defense 
of  the  coast:  Various  rumors  got  abroad  ;  but  great  care  was 
taken  to  prevent  the  common  people  from  receiving  any  defin- 
ite intelligence  in  regard  to  the  threatened  danger.  Some 
said  the  French  were  about  to  land  ;  some  said  the  Germans ; 
but  all  men  were  ready  to  defend  the  country  from  invasion ; 
and  a  small  party  of  military,  with  the  whole  of  the  train 
bands,  marched  out  in  the  course  of  the  morning  and  took  their 
way  toward  the  sea-shore. 

When  within  a  short  distance  of  the  beach,  the  townsmen 
were  more  puzzled  than  ever  by  the  orders  they  received. 
Means  were  taken  to  conceal  the  force  collected,  and  especial- 
ly to  hide  the  regular  troops,  while  a  small  party  only  of  the 
citizen  soldiers  showed  itself  within  sight  of  the  sea,  and  re- 
mained waiting  anxiously  during  the  greater  part  of  the  morn- 
ing. At  length,  however,  several  large  ships  of  Flemish 
build,  which  had  been  apparent  in  the  distance  for  some  time, 
were  seen  rapidly  to  approach  the  shore ;  and  when  as  near 
as  they  could  safely  come,  they  lay  to,  without  dropping  an 
anchor.     Boats  were  lowered  and  manned ;  and  a  small  body 

solve !  worked  for  the  good  of  the  country  on  her  part,  and  was  deliver- 
ed of  a  fair  son  in  her  town  of  Bruges,  toward  three  o'clock  of  the  day, 
the  22d  of  June,  in  the  year  seventy-eight." 


84  DAEK   SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

of  archers  and  pikemen,  under  three  pennons,  were  landed  upon 
the  beach.  Still  no  movement  was  made  to  oppose  them ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  one  of  the  royal  officers  rode  forward,  as 
if  to  parley  with  the  strangers.  When  at  a  distance  from 
them  he  reined  in  his  horse,  and  inquired  whose  men  they 
were,  and  what  they  came  for. 

"  We  are  under  the  banner  of  Richard,  duke  of  York,", 
replied  one  of  the  strangers,  who  seemed  to  be  in  command.; 
"He  is  now  in  the  royal  ship  there,  with  the  standard  at  the 
mast-head ;  and  he  comes  to  claim  the  allegiance  of  all  men 
in  England  who  remain  true  to  the  house  of  York." 

"  Ha!"  said  the  royal  officer  ;  "  is  this  the  young  prince  of 
whom  we  have  heard  so  much  from  the  court  of  Burgundy  ? 
If  so,  I  pray  you  send  and  beseech  him  to  land.  He  will  find 
here  none  but  true  and  loyal  subjects,  ready  to  live  and  die 
with  him.  He  and  his  companions  will  be  received  with  all 
honor ;  and  whatever  we  can  do  to  serve  him,  with  body  or 
goods,  we  are  ready  to  do  with  all  our  hearts." 

"  I  will  go  to  him  myself  with  your  message,"  replied  the 
officer  commanding  the  infantry  ;  "  and  right  glad  will  he  be 
to  hear  that  he  has  such  faithful  friends  in  this  part  of  Kent." 

The  boat  which  conveyed  him  soon  reached  the  ship  in 
which  Richard  Plantagenet  had  sailed  from  tH^,  coast  of 
Flanders ;  and  the  message  which  was  delivered  for  a  mo- 
ment made  the  heart  of  the  young  prince  beat  with  joy  ;  but 
the  officer  who  bore  it  speedily  damped  his  hopes. 

*'  I  have  thought  fit,  my  lord,"  he  said,  **  to  fulfill  my  com- 
mission exactly ;  but  I  fear  they  are  trying  to  cheat  you. 
That  little  party  on  the  hill  is  not  the  only  body  of  armed 
men  near,  if  my  eyes  have  not  deceived  me.  I  caught  the 
gleam  of  a  long  line  of  pikes  above  the  edge  of  what  seemed 
a  deep  ditch ;  and  I  am  sure  I  saw  a  pretty  strong  body  of 
horse  among  those  trees  there.  Better  let  me  return  alone,  till 
we  have  ascertained  the  facts.  I  will  keep  all  the  boats  along 
the  shore,  ready  to  re-embark  the  men  in  case  of  danger  ;  and 
should  I  find  that  they  are  dealing  with  us  in  good  faith,  I  will 
Bend  the  barges  back  to  your  highness,  that  you  may  disem- 
bark the  rest  of  the  troops." 

A  brief  counsel  was  held  among  the  principal  persons  pres- 
ent, and  it  was  agreed  to  follow  the  advice  which  had  been 
given.  The  boat  with  the  officer  commanding  the  infantry 
rowed  back  to  the  shore,  watched  eagerly  by  Richard  of  York 
and  his  companions.  Ere  it  touched  the  beach,  however,  a 
sight  presented  itself  which  filled  every  heart  with  dismay. 


ENGLAND— PEBKIN  WARBECK.       85 

Out  of  the  deep  cuts  in  the  ground,  and  from  behind  the  sand- 
hills and  a^ little  clump  of  trees  which  sheltered  a  farm-house, 
poured  out  several  thousand  men,  horse  and  foot,  well  armed, 
and  led  by  a  royal  banner.  A  large  body  of  cavalry,  consist- 
ing of  two  complete  troops,  dashed  down  toward  the  barges 
from  which  the  Flemish  infantry  had  landed,  while  the  En- 
glish pikemen  and  archers  drew  closer  and  closer  round  the 
little  body  of  invaders.  There  was  no  means  of  giving  them 
support ;  for,  with  the  exception  of  two  small  skiffs,  all  the 
boats  were  at  the  shore  ;  and  with  a  sickening  feeling  of  hor- 
ror and  anxiety,  the  unhappy  prince  turned  away  his  eyes. 

When  he  lifted  them  again  to  the  scene  upon  the  beach,  the 
commander  of  his  infantry  had  sprang  on  shore,  and  was  run- 
ning in  haste  toward  his  men,  who,  now  aware  of  the  danger 
in  which  they  were  placed,  were  moving  slowly  and  in  good 
order  toward  the  water.  They  were  too  late,  however.  The 
troops  of  Henry  were  upon  them  before  they  could  gain  the 
boats,  and  in  an  instant  all  was  one  scene  of  confusion  and 
strife.  They  fought  well ;  they  fought  long.  Little  quarter 
was  asked  or  given ;  but  ere  half  an  hour  was  over,  none  of 
that  small  body  of  infantry  remained  alive,  except  a  few  pris- 
oners ;*  and  with  a  heavy  heart  Richard  Plantagenet  hoisted 
sail,  and  bore  away  from  the  shores  of  England.  Thus  ended 
the  first  attempt  of  the  son  of  Edward  IV.  to  assert  in  ai-ms 
his  title  to  the  crown ;  and,  according  to  the  promise  he  had 
given,  he  returned  to  Flanders,  where  he  was  again  received 
with  every  mark  of  kindness. 

During  his  absence,  however,  the  eagerness  of  the  great 
trading  communities  of  the  country  to  conclude  a  peace  with 
England,  and  recover  the  commerce  they  had  lost,  had  produced 
a  profound  effect  upon  the  council  of  the  Archduke  Philip ; 
and  it  was  clear  that,  sooner  or  later,  the  unhappy  wanderer 
would  be  obliged  to  seek  a  refuge  on  some  other  shore.  Nego- 
tiations were  actually  going  on  between  England  and  the  Neth- 
erlands ;  and  day  by  day  some  advance  was  made  toward  a 
treaty  which  was  destined  to  deprive  the  prince  of  the  shelter 
which  had  been  hitherto  afibrded  him.  His  cause  was  still 
warmly  espoused  by  the  good  Duchess  Dowager  of  Burgundy, 
and  she  eagerly  sought  to  prepare  for  her  nephew  some  stronger 

*  It  is  generally  stated  by  the  English  historians  that  all  these  pris- 
oners were  hanged,  in  order  to  show  foreigners  that  they  could  not  with 
impunity  aid  Henry's  subjects  in  rebellion ;  but  this  is  positively  con- 
tradicted by  the  Burgundian  writers,  who  state  that  none  were  hanged 
but  such  as  were  proved  to  be  natives  of  England. 


U  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

support  in  the  prosecution  of  his  claim  than  she  could  herself 
affi)rd.  Wherever  she  turned  her  eyes,  indeed,  difficulties  met 
her.  The  King  of  France  was  full  of  other  purposes.  The 
politic  King  of  Aragon  was  in  close  alHance  with  Henry  Tu- 
dor. The  King  of  Scotland  had  hut  lately  concluded  a  truce 
with  the  great  enemy  of  Richard  Plantagenet.  It  was  to  the 
latter,  however,  that  her  eyes  turned  with  the  hest  hope  ;  for 
James  was  known  to  he  bold,  generous,  and  warlike,  and  the 
duchess  took  care  that  her  nephew's  claims  and  the  proofs  of 
his  birth  should  be  made  fully  known  at  the  court  of  Scotland. 
The  wishes  of  Richard  himself  turned  toward  Ireland.  It 
was  the  land  in  which  he  had  first  asserted  his  title  to  the 
English  throne.  There  he  had  been  received  with  warmth 
and  kindness,  when  he  had  none  to  support  him  but  those  who 
came  voluntarily  forward  in  his  cause.  There,  he  flattered 
himself,  his  claim  would  now  be  generally  recognized,  after  it 
had  been  so  fully  admitted  by  more  than  one  sovereign  prince, 
and  when,  instead  of  a  nameless  wanderer,  he  could  present 
himself  with  a  royal  train,  and  many  a  gallant  man-at-arms. 
To  Ireland,  therefore,  he  sailed,  before  the  signature  of  the 
treaty  between  Henry  and  the  archduke  compelled  him  to  quit 
the  court  of  Burgundy  ;*  but  all  his  hopes  were  disappointed ; 
and  in  Ireland,  though  he  found  many  to  recognize  his  title, 
he  found  none  to  support  his  cause.f 

*  By  the  fourth  article  of  the  Treaty  of  1496,  Henry  and  Philip  mata- 
ally  agreed  not  to  admit  the  enemies  of  each  other  into  their  territories. 
By  the  fifth  article,  each  of  the  contracting  parties  undertook  to  expel 
from  his  territories  such  enemies  of  the  other  as  had  been  previously  ad- 
mitted, and  to  do  so  within  one  month  after  a  formal  notice  should  be 
given  to  that  effect  by  the  other.  It  is  not  quite  clear  that  Richard 
Plantagenet  sailed  for  Ireland  previous  to  the  signature  of  the  treaty ; 
but,  as  these  articles  were  evidently  leveled  at  him,  he  must,  at  all  events, 
have  sailed  vnthin  a  month  after. 

t  I  have  no  proof  to  offer,  that  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  actually  held 
any  communication  with  James  IV.  of  Scotland ;  but  it  is  perfectly  evi- 
dent, from  the  reception  given  by  that  monarch  to  Richard  Plantagenet, 
that,  even  before  the  landing  of  the  latter  on  the  shores  of  Scotland,  the 
king  must  have  received  very  convincing  evidence  of  his  royal  descent. 
Tl^e  speech,  reported  to  have  been  addressed  to  the  Scottish  sovereign 
by  Richard,  is  so  clearly  a  fabrication  of  the  Tudor  historians  that  it  re- 
quires no  comment.  More,  Grafton,  and  Bacon  have  all  been  justly  ac- 
cused of  something  more  than  partitdity ;  but  More,  with  all  his  wit,  and 
Bacon,  with  all  his  wisdom,  were  not  capable  of  manufacturing  a  tale 
which  would  not  betray  the  handiwork  of  the  artificer  when  compared 
with  ^e  facts  ascertained  by  public  documents. 


ENGLAND—PERKIN    WARBECK.  87 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

King  James  IV.  of  Scotland  was  riding  back  toward  the 
Palace  of  Holyrood  after  the  hunting  of  the  deer.  Only  a  few 
of  his  attendants  were  with  him,  and  his  dusty  dress  of  green 
did  little  to  distinguish  the  monarch  from  the  rest ;  but  there 
was  a  majesty^in  his  air,  given  very  naturally  by  the  habit  of 
command,  which  might  well  attract  the  passing  eye.  Such, 
it  seems,  was  the  case ;  for  a  horseman,  splendidly  dressed,  and 
followed  by  two  attendants  and  a  page,  who  was  riding  along 
the  road  toward  Edinburgh,  turned  to  look  at  the  little  body 
of  hunters  as  he  passed  them,  and  then  springing  to  the  ground, 
threw  his  rein  to  the  boy,  and  approached  the  king  on  foot. 
His  dress  was  not  of  the  land  in  which  he  then  was,  but  he 
was  evidently  a  man  of  high  distinction ;  for  round  his  neck 
he  wore  a  chain  of  gold,  and  gilded  spurs  over  his  untanned 
boots.     James  halted  instantly,  and  asked, 

"  What  is  your  pleasure,  noble  sir  ?" 

The  other,  however,  shook  his  head,  with  a  smile,  and  re- 
pHed,  in  French,  "  Alas  I  sire,  I  have  no  English ;  but,  if  I  mis- 
take not  much,  you  are  James,  king  of  Scotland." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  answered  the  king,  in  the  same  tongue. 
"Let  me  ask,  if  I  may  vidthout  lack  of  courtesy,  who  it  is  that 
speaks  to  me  ?" 

"A  very  humble  person,  sire,"  replied  the  stranger;  "a 
poor  and  little-renowned  knight,  but  one  of  a  good  house  and 
name,  Rudiger  de  Lalaing."* 

"A  famous  name,  indeed,"  replied  the  king.  "We  have 
heard  of  your  deeds  of  arms,  sir  knight,  and  welcome  you 
gladly  to  our  realm  of  Scotland.  I  pray  you  mount  your  horse, 
and  bear  us  company  to  our  palace.  If  you  have  any  business 
to  communicate,  you  can  speak  it  by  the  way." 

*  This  name  is  written  in  various  ways:  Rodighe,  and  sometimes 
even  Modighe.  It  was  really,  however,  Rudiger  de  Lalaing ;  and,  al- 
though the  nobleman  who  accompanied  Richard  ofPlantagenetto  Scot- 
land was  not  so  celebrated  a  captain  as  his  ^eat  relation,  Jame  de  La- 
laing, he  was,  nevertheless,  a  distinguished  knight,  and  maintained  the 
high  name  of  the  Burgundiaa  chivalry  at  the  court  of  James  by  many 
gsdlant  feats  of  arms. 


88  DABK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

Lalaing  did  as  he  was  desired ;  and  the  king's  attendants 
fell  a  little  back  as  he  rode  forward  with  the  stranger.  The 
monarch  and  his  companion  were  seen  speakmg  eagerly  to- 
gether. Gestures,  as  if  of  wonder  and  surprise,  on  the  part 
of  the  king,  were  remarked  by  the  attendants.  Curiosity  led 
them  a  little  nearer,  as  they  approached  the  city,  and  they 
beheld  the  foreign  knight  place  three  sealed  packets  in  the 
hand  of  the  king,  saying, 

"  This  from  his  imperial  majesty,  Maximilian  ;  this  from 
his  son,  the  Archduke  Philip  ;  this  from  the  King  of  France. 
More  than  one  dispatch,  I  believe,  has  already  reached  your 
highness  from  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Burgundy." 

James  bent  his  head,  saying,  "  I  have  receb-ed'them,  and 
will  read  these  with  all  attention  and  respect.  Your  tale  sur- 
prises me,  I  will  acknowledge,  for  my  ally  Henry,  king  of 
England,  has  industriously  spread  a  statement  that  the  per- 
son at  the  court  of  Burgundy,  pretending  to  be  Duke  of  York, 
is  an  impostor,  the  son  of  a  Jew  of  Tournay,  tutored  to  act  a 
part  by  the  duchess  dowager." 

The  blood  mounted  fiercely  in  Lalaing' s  cheek.  "  He  is  a 
false  traitor,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  has  told  a  lie.  Margaret 
of  Burgundy  is  incapable  of  tutoring  any  one  to  practice  a 
deceit." 

"So  I  have  always  judged,"  replied  the  king;  "but  that 
part  of  the  tale  might  be  false  and  the  other  true.  She  might 
be  herself  deceived.  Nevertheless,  I  will  read  these  letters 
with  due  attention,  and  will  willingly  receive  the  prince  at  a 
public  audience.  I  call  him  the  prince,  because  I  can  not 
believe  that  three  great  and  wise  sovereigns,  as  well  as  a  near 
relation  of  the  person  he  pretends  to  be,  would  admit  his  claims 
and  acknowledge  his  birth  without  clear  evidence  of  the  truth 
of  his  story." 

"  The  same  evidence  can  be  laid  before  your  highness," 
answered  Lalaing ;  "  and  now  I  will  take  my  leave,  and  in- 
form the  duke  of  your  gracious  promise  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
your  convenience  serves." 

'•  He  shall  hear  from  me  this  very  night,"  said  James  ;  and 
then  he  pressed  the  foreign  knight  to  ride  on  with  him  to 
Holyrood,  and  partake  of  some  refreshment. 

Lalaing  declined,  however,  and  turned  away  to  r^oin  his 
young  lord. 

A  truce  existed  between  England  and  Scotland ;  but  James 
would  not  receive  the  claimant  to  the  English  throne  in  secret 
or  even  in  private.     He  fixed  the  day  and  hour,  and  invited 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WAEBBCK.  89 

all  the  nobles  of  his  court  to  be  present,  that  they  might  hear 
and  judge  as  well  as  himself.  All  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
young  man  when  he  entered ;  and  there  was  many  a  one  in- 
clined to  doubt  or  to  disbelieve  ;  but  there  was  a  grace  and  a 
dignity  in  the  demeanor  of  Richard  Plantagenet,  which,  added 
to  the  beauty  of  his  person,  and  the  frank  opermess  of  his  coun- 
tenance, soon  dissipated  all  iiyurious  prejudices.  He  looked, 
he  moved,  he  spoke  as  a  prince  ;  and  the  perfect  commajid  of 
the  English  language  which  he  displayed,  the  want  of  all 
foreign  accent  or  idiom,  at  once  refuted  the  tale  of  his  being 
the  son  of  a  foreign  Jew.  He  made  no  long  harangue,*  but, 
after  his  first  introduction  to  the  king,  entered  calmly  and 
quietly  into  thejdetails  of  his  history,  and  tendered  such  proofs 
of  his  birth  as  left  no  doubt  upon  the  mind  of  the  monarch, 
or  of  his  courtiers,  as  to  the  justice  of  his  pretensions.  He 
was  accompanied  by  several  Burgundian  and  several  EngHsh 
gentlemen,  who  confirmed  in  many  instances  the  facts  he 
mentioned ;  and,  after  listening  patiently,  the  king  took  him 
by  the  hand,  and  assured  him  that  he  should  never  have  reason 
to  repent  that  he  had  put  himself  under  his  protection. 

Some  further  conversation  followed ;  and,  in  the  end,  James 
turned  to  the  Earl  of  Huntley,  saying,  "  My  noble  cousin,  you 
know  that  I  am  bound  upon  a  pilgrimage,  which  must  occupy 
me  some  days.  I  shall,  therefore,  put  this  young  prince  under 
your  care  and  guidance  till  my  own  return,  beseeching  you  to 
show  him  every  courtesy  and  hospitality.  When  I  come  back, 
we  will  have  jousts  and  games,  to  put  the  mettle  of  these 
gentlemen  of  Burgundy  to  the  trial.  We  will  then,  also,  take 
counsel  as  to  what  is  to  be  done  in  the  present  circumstances ; 
for  the  heir  of  the  house  of  York  shall  not  appeal  in  vain  to 
^ames  of  Scotland." 

The  earl  stood  forward  frankly,  saying,  "  I  wiU  fulfill  your 
liighness's  will  to  the  best  of  my  poor  power.  My  lord  duke, 
I  will  entreat  you  for  the  time  to  lodge  at  my  house,  with  such 
attendants  as  you  may  need.     The  rest  of  your  train  we  will 

*  The  oration  given  by  Lord  Bacon  is,  as  I  have  before  said,  evi- 
dently a  fabrication  from  beginning  to  end.  The  language  and  turn  of 
expression  is  altogether  of  a  later  period ;  and  the  statements  differ 
materially  from  those  put  forth  by  Richard  Plantagenet  in  his  procla- 
mation, which  is  the  only  known  document  regarding  his  pretensions 
that  was  not  carefully  suppressed  under  the  Tudor  dynasty.  The  ad- 
dress of  the  young  prince  to  the  King  of  Scots,  as  furnished  by  the 
noble  author,  is,  in  fact,  merely  one  of  those  imaginary  speeches  which 
historians  in  all  ages  have  not  scrupled  to  manufacture  tor  the  persons 
whose  liistories  they  relate. 


90  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

find  lodgings  for  in  the  city  ;  and  though,  perhaps,  we  can  not 
show  yon  here  such  rich  fields  and  golden  harvests  as  you  have 
seen  elsewhere,  nor  such  splendid  scenes  and  ghttering  pageant- 
ry as  France  and  Burgundy  afford,  yet  we  have  blue  mount- 
ains where  we  will  teach  you  to  hunt  the  roe  and  the  deer ; 
and  we  have  bold  hearts  and  strong  hands  which  never  yet 
failed  a  friend  at  his  need.  I  will  now  beseech  your  grace  to 
follow  me,  after  taking  leave  of  my  royal  lord,  and  I  will  then 
lead  you  to  my  humble  dwelling." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

A  BRIGHT  and  beautiful  girl  stood  by  the  side  of  the  stout 
Earl  of  Huntley,  on  the  evening  of  the  day  just  mentioned  ; 
nor  was  it  alone  perfection  of  feature  nor  beauty  of  coloring 
that  rendered  her  so  lovely.  The  dark-brown  hair,  the  pure 
blue  eye,  the  fine  straight  nose,  the  lips  like  rounded  rose  leaves, 
the  glowing  cheek,  the  broad  snow-white  forehead,  the  fine 
arched  eyebrows  were  nothing  without  that  beaming  bright- 
ness of  expression,  without  those  soul-gleams  which  sparkled 
in  the  eye,  and  played  about  the  lips,  sometimes  in  sunny 
smiles,  sometimes  with  the  intense  light  of  thought,  and  some- 
times with  the  shadow  of  deep  feeling.  Now  she  was  in  her 
gayest  mood ;  and  laughingly  did  bright  Catharine  Gordon 
tease  her  father  to  tell  her  why  such  preparations  as  she  had 
seen  were  making  in  the  house.  Who  was  expected  ?  she 
asked.     Who  was  the  great  man  coming] 

"  I  saw  you  walk  down  the  street  some  hours  ago,"  she 
said,  "  with  a  train  fit  for  the  Highlands ;  and  you  stopped 
and  pointed  to  the  house  ;  and  then  there  were  manifold  court- 
esies, and  bows  and  ceremonies  enow.  I  must  and  will  know 
whom  I  am  to  receive,  that  I  may  do,  with  all  discretion,  the 
honors  of  the  house  in  place  of  my  mother." 

"  Guess,  Kate,"  cried  the  stout  carl,  "  guess ;  for  on  my 
life  I  have  no  mind  to  satisfy  a  woman's  curiosity.  'Tis  an 
ever-craving  appetite,  which  one  morsel  but  serves  to  strength- 
en for  more  food." 

"Is  it  an  English  embassador?"  asked  Catharine.     The 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBEOK.       91 

earl  shook  his  head.  *'  Is  it  a  French  envoy  ?  or  a  Spanish 
don?" 

The  earl  answered  "  No." 

"  Then  it  must  be  some  Burgundian  noble,  or  some  German 
prince,"  exclaimed  Catharine. 

"Near  the  truth,  yet  far  from  it, "  replied  her  father.  "But, 
come,  I  will  tell  thee,  Kate.  It  is  the  White  Rose  of  En- 
gland." 

"  The  White  Rose !"  repeated  Catharine  Gordon,  with  a 
thoughtful  look.  "  That  is  a  flowery  metaphor.  I  hope  this 
white  rose  has  not  many  thorns." 

"  Thorns  for  his  enemies,  I  trust,"  replied  Lord  Huntley, 
"  but  sweet  leaves  for  his  friends.  Come,  sit  you  down,  Kate, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  history,  for  he  will  soon  be  here  ;"  and 
placed  beside  him,  she  listened  to  the  tale  of  Richard  Plan- 
tagenet,  with  her  eyes  often  swimming  in  bright  dew,  as  she 
heard  the  sorrows  and  reverses  which  had  crowded  thickly 
into  his  brief  life. 

The  tale  was  not  quite  finished  when  Richard  of  York  ar- 
rived ;  and  certainly,  if,  in  the  bright  imagination  of  the  young 
heart,  she  had  painted  the  object  of  her  interest  in  glowing  col- 
ors, she  thought  them  cold  and  insufficient  when  she  saw  him. 

But  we  must  pass  over  the  next  weeks  lightly.  It  wns  a 
time  of  happy  dreams  for  Richard  Plantagenet.  It  was  a 
time  of  fatal  dreams  for  Catharine  Gordon .  There  were  dance, 
and  song,  and  music.  There  were  the  gay  hunting-party,  the 
wild,  reckless  ride  among  blue  and  gleamy  hills.  There  was 
the  wandering  by  murmuring  streams  and  glassy  lakes. 
There  were  the  moments  of  visionary  meditation  and  of  sweet 
converse. 

It  was  impossible  that  two  young  hearts,  thus  brought  to- 
gether, should  not  draw  closer  and  closer  to  each  other.  They 
could  not  help  it.  There  were  the  ties  of  sympathy,  and  mu- 
tual tastes,  and  accomplishments  common  to  both.  Deep  in- 
terest on  the  one  side,  warm  admiration  on  the  other ;  grace, 
beauty,  feeling,  fancy,  all  twined  a  net  around  them,  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  The  earl  saw  the  growing  pas- 
sion, and  mused  over  it  much.  At  first  he  thought  it  would 
have  been  well  otherwise ;  but  that  youth  had  won  marvel- 
ously  upon  his  aflections,  and  he  repeated  over  and  over  again 
to  himself,  "  He  is  the  son  of  the  fourth  Edward.  True,  the 
fortunes  of  his  house  are  low ;  but  where  is  the  blood  with 
which  that  of  Plantagenet  might  not  mingle  ?  and  there  may 
be  a  brighter  day  beyond  this  cold  present  time.    If  England 


§t  '}"  DABK  SOE'nES  OF  HISTORY. 

do  but  rise  in  his  f&voi,  and  Scotland  lend  her  aid,  the  crown 
of  his  ancestors  will  be  his,  and  my  Catharine  seated  on  a 
throne.  I  will  let  things  take  their  course.  God  grant  it  be 
for  the  best  I  Would  that  the  king  acknowledged  him  more 
openly.    He  can  have  no  doubt,  and  yet  he  seems  to  hesitate." 

The  hesitation  continued  not  long,  however ;  for,  at  the 
end  of  a  few  weeks,  Richard  Plantagenet  was  finally  acknowl- 
edged and  received  at  the  court  of  Scotland  as  Duke  of  York. 
Jousts,  passages  of  arms,  and  many  a  sport  and  pastime  suc- 
ceeded ;  but  counsels  were  also  held  and  consultations  took 
place  ;  and  it  was  rumored  in  the  land  that  war  against  En- 
gland was  in  preparation,  a  report  rarely  unpleasant  in  those 
days  to  Scottish  ears.  Men  began  to  call  their  retainers  to- 
gether, and  to  polish  up  their  armor ;  and  all  eyes  turned  to- 
ward the  border,  with  a  longing  desire  to  spoil  the  neighbor- 
ing state. 

-  The  wars  of  those  days  combined  pleasure  and  profit,  in  a 
way  of  which  we  can  probably  form  no  idea.  The  pastimes 
of  almost  every  man  were  more  or  less  warlike  ;  and  a  foray 
over  the  border  was  much  Uke  an  Indian  hunting  expedition, 
in  which  men  went  out  at  once  for  sport  and  food.  Thus  the 
very  rumor  spread  great  satisfaction  through  the  capital  of 
Scotland,  and  the  gladness  of  the  court  was  increased  and  con- 
firmed by  the  announcement  of  an  approaching  marriage.  Be- 
fore war  was  proclaimed,  it  was  afl[irmed  that  James,  king  of 
Scotland,  would  bestow  his  cousin,  Catharine  Gordon,  the 
most  beautiful  and  accomplished  of  the  Scottish  ladies,  upon 
Richard,  duke  of  York  ;  and  in  this  union  the  people  saw  the 
certainty  of  great  efforts  against  the  neighboring  country.  The 
very  act  would  bind  the  monarch  to  assert  the  claim  of  the 
young  prince  to  the  crown  of  England.  So  the  people  thought, 
and  they  thought  rightly. 

The  marriage  took  place  in  the  midst  of  splendor  and  fes- 
tivity, and  a  few  short  weeks  of  the  brightest  happiness  that 
earth  can  give  were  granted  to  the  two  lovers  in  each  other's 
arms.  There  was  nothing  like  disappointment  for  them, 
Hope  and  expectation  for  once  found  fruition  ;  and  if  they 
loved  before,  they  loved  better  still  now,  when  bound  together 
by  an  everlasting  tie.  They  heard  the  trumpet  sound  to  arms 
with  a  sigh,  though  the  prize  to  be  struggled  for  was  a  crown. 

The  Scottish  army  marched  forth  with  all  the  pomp  and 
circumstances  of  war,  and  crossed  the  English  border  amid 
the  brown  shades  of  autumn.*    This  was  no  predatory  foray, 
•  1496. 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  93 

no  wild  and  sweeping  incursion  of  frontier  marauders,  but  it 
was  a  royal  expedition,  headed  by  a  king,  and  by  one  who 
claimed  to  be  a  king.  Order  and  regularity  marked  the  ad- 
vance of  the  troops ;  banner  and  pennon,  cannon  and  culver- 
in,  the  long  lance  of  the  trooper,  the  pike,  and  the  bow,  and 
the  ax  of  the  infantry,  came  pouring  on  in  a  long  line  over  the 
frontier ;  and  at  the  head  of  all  appeared  James,  who  was  to 
fall,  defeated,  at  Flodden,  and  Richard,  who  was  to  die  a  pris- 
oner in  London.  Seldom  have  two  more  princely-looking  men 
gone  forth  to  war  against  a  great  enemy ;  and  never  did  a 
Scottish  army  enter  England  with  less  violence  or  injury  to 
the  land  through  which  they  passed. 

Still,  as  the  royal  host  advanced,  proclamation  was  made 
every  where  before  it,  in  the  name  of  Richard,  by  the  grace 
of  God  King  of  England  and  of  France,  Lord  of  Ireland,- 
Prince  of  Wales,  inviting  all  men  to  flock  to  the  standard  of 
their  lawful  king,  and  setting  forth,  in  brief  but  comprehen- 
sive terms,  the  claim  of  Plantagenet  to  the  throne  of  England. 
It  told  how  in  his  early  years  he  had  escaped,  by  Gk)d's  might, 
out  of  the  Tower  of  London,  and  had  dwelt  in  divers  coun- 
tries beyond  sea,  while  Henry  Tudor  usurped  the  crown.  It 
told  how  the  same  Henry  Tudor,  as  soon  as  he  heard  that 
Richard,  duke  of  York,  was  alive,  had  wrought  by  all  subtle 
means  for  his  destruction ;  how  he  had  accused  him  of  being 
an  impostor ;  had  ofiered  large  sums  to  corrupt  the  princes 
who  had  taken  his  part ;  how  he  had  seduced  his  servants, 
such  as  Sir  Robert  Clifford,  to  practice  against  his  person,  and 
forsake  his  righteous  quarrel.  It  set  forth  all,  too,  which 
Henry  had  done  to  oppress  and  grind  the  English"  people,  and 
showed  how  he  had  put  to  death  many  of  the  noblest  gentle- 
men in  the  land,  and  kept  in  perpetual  imprisonment  Edward, 
son  and  heir  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence  ;  and  it  offered  a  reward 
of  one  thousand  pounds,  and  a  hundred  marks  yearly,  to  any 
one  who  would  bring  in  the  body  of  the  said  Henry  Tudor, 
dead  or  alive.  It  promised,  also,  on  the  part  of  Richard  Plan- 
tagenet, to  the  whole  people  of  England,  that  if  he  succeeded 
in  obtaining  the  throne  of  his  ancestors,  he  would  deal  differ- 
ently with  his  subjects  ;  that  he  would  administer  equal  jus- 
tice to  all ;  that  he  would  maintain  the  good  laws  and  customs 
of  the  kingdom  ;  that  he  would  protect  its  commerce,  diminish 
its  burdens,  and  uphold  the  rights  and  privileges  of  all  men. 

It  was  a  powerful  and  a  moving  manifesto  ;  but  it  had  no 
effect.  Men  hated  the  rule  of  Henry  ;  but  they  dreaded  his 
unsparing  vengeance.    They  knew  him  to  be  avaricious,  cm- 


«S  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

el,  oppressive  ;  but  they  knew  him  to  be  crafty,  vigorous,  and 
fortunate.  They  feared  as  much  as  abhorred;  and  man 
whispered  to  man, 

"  If  he  spared  not  Stanley,  his  best  and  noblest  friend,  how 
will  he  spare  others  ?" 

No  one  stirred.  No  nobleman  or  private  gentleman  of  any 
note  came  forward  to  assert  the  rights  of  Richard  of  York ; 
and  men  made  ancient  enmity  toward  the  Scottish  people  a 
motive  or  an  excuse  for  yielding  to  their  own  apprehensions. 
A  battle  fought  and  won  might  soon  have  brought  thousands 
to  the  standard  of  Richard  Plantagenet ;  but  the  officers  of 
Henry  were  too  wise  to  risk  such  a  result.  King  James  found 
no  opposition  in  the  field.  The  fortified  cities  shut  their  gates 
against  him ;  but  no  army  appeared  to  oppose  his  progress ; 
and  for  some  time  he  marched  on,  orderly  and  steadily,  look- 
ing for  some  rising  in  favor  of  Plantagenet,  but  in  vain. 

At  length  the  King  of  Scotland  became  impatient,  and  his 
nobles  more  so.  They  had  come  to  fight,  and  they  had  found 
no  one  to  oppose  them.  They  had  come  to  establish  a  king 
in  his  rights,  and  they  found  no  one  to  acknowledge  him. 
The  border  chieftains,  long  inured  to  predatory  warfare,  had 
restrained  their  followers  and  themselves  with  difficulty ;  and 
a  few  words  of  encouragement,  from  the  lips  of  their  king, 
were  sufficient  to  plunge  them  at  once  into  all  their  old  hab- 
its. Moderation,  order,  discipline  were  all  forgotten ;  and 
Northumberland  was  soon  in  a  blaze  from  one  side  to  the 
other.  Hamlets  and  villages  were  sacked  and  destroyed, 
houses  plundered,  the  peasantry  slaughtered  in  the  fields  ;  and 
Richard  Plantagenet  saw  with  grief  his  claims  to  the  throne 
of  his  father  made  a  pretense  for  destroying  his  fellow-coun- 
trymen and  desolating  his  native  land.  His  course  was  im- 
mediately taken ;  and  it  was  well  suited  to  his  character. 
He  sought  the  King  of  Scotland  at  once,  and  expostulated 
with  him  firmly  on  the  barbarous  proceedings  of  his  troops. 

"  If  this  is  done  in  my  behalf,  my  noble  lord,  I  beseech  you 
to  forbear,"  he  said.  "  I  would  rather  lose  a  crown  than  ob- 
tain one  by  the  ruin  of  my  subjects." 

James  answered  in  a  less  kingly  spirit.  "  Methinks  your 
highness  gives  yourself  too  much  concern,"  he  said,  "  about 
subjects  who  do  not  acknowledge  you  as  their  king." 

He  retreated,  however,  from  England,  taking  with  him  the 
wealth  of  the  whole  land  through  which  he  passed  ;  and  Scot- 
land was  satisfied  with  plunder  such  as  had  seldom  been 
brought  home  from  the  neighboring  country. 


w 

ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBECK.        9^ 

Kichard  Plantagenet  took  nothing  with  him ;  but  his  heart 
was  more  joyful  than  any  one  in  the  camp,  for  he  was  going 
back  to  her  he  loved  ;  and  he  knew  that  the  eyes  of  Catharine 
were  looking  for  him.  Short  time  was  allowed  him,  how- 
ever, for  the  sweets  of  love.  James  regretted  the  rash  words 
he  had  spoken  to  him ;  and,  as  a  proof  of  undiminished  in- 
terest, he  determined  to  lead  another  army  into  England,  but 
to  proceed  on  a  difierent  plan  of  operations. 

The  moment  he  chose  was  favorable.  We  often  do  more 
against  ourselves  than  any  enemy  can  do  against  us.  No  one 
had  risen  in  anns  to  favor  Richard  Plantagenet ;  but  in  the 
early  part  of  1497,  many  rose  in  arms  against  the  oppression 
of  Heniy  Tudor.  The  King  of  England  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  invasion  of  his  dominions  by  James  and  Richard,  to 
exact  large  supplies  from  his  Parliament.  The  Parliament 
granted  his  demands,  but  endeavored  to  guard  against  misap- 
pUcation  of  the  sums  to  be  levied,  of  which  many  an  instance 
was  on  record.  Henry  strode  over  all  restrictions,  however. 
The  taxes  were  raised  with  severity,  cruelty,  and  partiality ; 
and  the  people  of  Cornwall  rose  to  resist.  It  was  then  that 
James  and  Richard  once  more  advanced  into  England,  and 
laid  siege  to  Norham  Castle.  No  great  force  was  now  col- 
lected ;  for  it"  was  expected  that  the  fortress  would  soon  fall. 
But  the  princes  were  deceived.  News  came  that  the  gallant 
Earl  of  Surrey  was  advancing  with  rapid  marches  at  the  head 
of  twenty  thousand  men  ;  and  the  Scottish  army  was  forced 
to  raise  the  siege,  and  retreat  beyond  the  border.  They  were 
pursued  even  into  Scotland ;  and  the  flames  of  Ayton  wit- 
nessed the. success  of  Surrey  and  the  discomfiture  of  James. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

"  My  husband,  my  husband,  there  is  danger  abroad,"  said 
the  White  Pwose  of  Scotland  to  the  White  Rose  of  England. 
"  That  subtle  Spaniard,  Pedro  of  Ayala,  has  been  closeted 
with  the  king  ;  and  I  fear  much  for  the  result." 

"  Fear  not,  dear  Kate,"  replied  Richard.  "  I  am  confi- 
dent of  the  good  faith  and  honor  of  King  James.     He  will 


96  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

neither  bietray  nor  abandon  nie.  He  knows  the  justice  of  my 
claims.  He  has  had  full  proof  of  my  birth  and  of  my  rights  ; 
and  he  will  not  be  led  to  tarnish  his  honor  by  the  offers  of 
Henry  Tudor,  or  the  blandishments  of  Pedro  de  Ayala." 

"  Alas  I  that  I  should  say  so  to  you,  Richard,"  answered 
Catharine  ;  "  but  there  are  words  in  Scripture  which  should 
be  a  warning  to  all :  '  Put  not  your  faith  in  princes.'  My 
father  tells  me,  that  deputies  are  already  appointed  to  hold 
conferences  regarding  peace  with  the  English  commissioners 
at  Ayton.  The  king  is  tired  of  the  war.  He  had  hoped  for 
success  ;  and  he  has  met  with  reverse.  He  had  fancied  that, 
by  a  few  light  efibrts,  he  could  seat  you  on  the  throne  of  En- 
gland ;  he  has  found  the  task  too  difficult  for  him  ;  he  has  seen 
his  army  obliged  to  flee  from  before  Norham  ;  and  our  cause 
is  lost,  my  dear  husband." 

Richard  mused  sadly.  Then,  looking  up  in  Catharine's 
face,  he  said,  "  If  I  lose  not  thee,  my  beloved,  I  can  bear  the 
frown  of  fortune  undismayed.  She  may  refuse  me  a  crown. 
She  may  condemn  me  to  poverty  and  to  obscurity.  She  may 
give  my  name  down  to  coming  ages  as  that  of  an  impostor. 
She  may  brand  my  truth  as  falsehood,  and  annul  the  rights 
of  my  birth ;  but  she  has  given  me  thy  love,  and  in  it  a 
jewel  which  not  fate  itself  can  take  from  me." 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  he  continued,  starting  up.  "  I  will 
ride  into  the  city  and  to  the  court,  and  soon  know  what  my 
fate  is  to  be." 

He  called  for  his  horse  and  for  his  train,  presented  himself 
at  the  palace,  and  desired  an  audience.  It  was  granted  in- 
stantly ;  and  James  advanced  to  meet  him,  and  embraced  him 
kindly.  The  king's  brow,  however,  was  sorrowful ;  and  he 
said  at  once,  "  I  am  glad  your  highness  has  come  ;  for  I  pro- 
posed to  visit  you  this  very  day.  The  time  has  arrived  when 
it  is  needful  for  me  and  my  council  to  determine  whether  wo 
will  remain  for  many  years  at  war  with  England,  or  conclude 
an  honorable  peace.  My  subjects  call  for  repose ;  but  still, 
it  is  with  painful  regret  that  I  even  think  of  sheathing  the 
sword  which  I  have  drawn  in  your  cause.  However,  I  must 
show  you  the  whole  truth.  Though  a  warlike  nation,  we  are 
a  very  poor  one,  few  in  numbers  compared  with  the  Enghsh 
people,  and  not  altogether  so  much  united  as  we  might  be. 
Henry,  your  great  enemy,  has  an  overflowing  treasury  and 
vast  resources  of  all  kinds.  He  is  at  peace  with  every  foreign 
country  ;  the  revolt  of  the  Cornishmen  is  suppressed  ;  and  if 
his  people  do  not  love  him  well,  still  they  obey  him  readily 


ENGLAND—PERKIN   WABBECK.  97 

If  I  refuse  his  ofiers  now,  it  will  be  no  longer  the  question, 
whether  I  shall  march  an  army  into  England,  but  rather, 
how  shall  I  defend  Scotland  against  an  invading  force." 

The  king  paused ;  and  Richard  Plantagenet  crossed  his 
arms  upon  his  chest,  and  gazed  silently  down  upon  the  ground. 
James  would  fain  have  had  him  speak  ;  but  he  uttered  not  a 
word  ;  and  the  monarch  proceeded. 

"  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "  when  first  you  sought  my  court, 
that  you  should  never  repent  having  trusted  in  me  ;  nor  shall 
you.  I  will  never  deny  that  you  have  proved  to  me,  beyond 
all  doubt,  your  birth  and  rights.  I  will  not  give  you  up  to 
the  power  of  an  enemy  ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  my  people,  and 
for  the  safety  of  my  throne,  I  am  compelled  to  tell  you  that 
while  you  remain  in  Scotland  peace  can  not  be  concluded. 
Bitter  is  my  task  to  say  this ;  but  assuredly  I  do  believe  it 
were  better  for  you,  and  me,  and  Scotland  that  you  sought 
some  other  land." 

With  hardly  a  change  of  countenance,  Richard  of  York 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  king's  face.  His  look  was  very  grave 
and  very  sad  ;  but  it  showed  neither  anger  nor  apprehension. 
The  color  did  not  vary  in  his  cheek.  His  lip  did  not  quiver. 
His  voice  faltered  not. 

"  I  will  not  try,  my  lord  the  king,"  he  said,  *' to  change  your 
determination.  It  is  well  considered,  wise,  I  doubt  not,  in 
itself,  and  kindly  and  frankly  told.  A  king's  duty  to  his  sub- 
jects is,  or  should  be,  a  far  higher  consideration  than  the  in- 
terests of  one  helpless  stranger,  whatever  may  be  his  claims 
upon  generous  pity.  Even  had  I  cause  to  think  the  motives 
on  which  you  act  insufficient,  or  to  judge  that  you  forego  the 
assertion  of  my  claims  unnecessarily,  which  I  have  not,  that 
could  not  cancel  all  the  obligations  under  which  you  have  laid 
me.  I  thank  you  deeply  and  sincerely  for  the  protection  and 
assistance  you  have  been  able  to  afford  me,  and  for  the  many 
favors  which  you  have  conferred  upon  me.  I  will  now  take 
my  leave,  and  prepare  at  once  to  depart ;  but,  believe  me, 
whithersoever  I  go,  I  shall  ever  retain  a  sincere  afiection  for 
your  person,  and  a  grateful  remembrance  of  your  kindness."* 

*  These  are  very  nearly  Richard  Plantagenet's  own  words,  as  re- 
corded by  historians.  In  general,  the  conversations  to  be  fonnd  in 
these  scenes  must  be  looked  upon  merely  as  the  dialogues  which  the 
author  thinks  might  probably  take  place  betv^reen  the  principal  persons 
mentioned.  The  exact  words  are  rarely  given  by  historians.  Wher- 
ever the  author  has  found  thera  he  has  inserted  them ;  and  where  the 
substance  merely  is  given,  he  has  expressed  it  in  the  terms  which  he 
thought  suitable  to  the  characters. 

E 


98        DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY, 

He  did  take  his  leave,  and  rode  home  to  his  dwelling  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  town.  He  was  calm,  firm,  composed. 
None  of  his  attendants  beheld  a  trace  of  agitation  in  his  face 
or  manner  ;  but  who  shall  tell  the  feelings  of  his  heart  during 
that  short  ride  ? 

Oh,  that  barren  record  called  history,  that  catalogue  of  facts 
and  falsehoods  so  intimately  mingled  together  as  often  to  be 
inseparable,  how  poor  and  meager  it  is,  even  while  represent- 
ing the  great  bubbles  of  the  earth,  how  meager,  I  say,  in  all 
the  mighty  realities  !  It  tells  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  kings,  of 
peace  or  war  between  two  countries,  of  a  skirmish  here,  a 
battle  there,  a  bright  meeting,  a  great  discovery  ;  but  not  one 
word  does  it  say  of  the  human  feelings,  and  but  few  of  the 
human  thoughts  does  it  record.  Yet  those  two  great  streams 
of  heart  and  mind  are  the  rivers  of  hfe  and  light  that  flow 
through  the  mighty  Garden  of  Time.  What  are  laws,  insti- 
tutions, acts,  but  means  to  make  man  happier  ?  What  are 
study,  exertion,  discovery,  but  to  make  him  wiser  and  better  ? 
Each  man's  individual  sorrows  or  joys  are  portions  of  the 
great  stream  of  life  ;  each  man's  individual  thoughts  are  parts 
of  the  River  of  Wisdom.  These,  however,  we  take  no  heed  to 
reckon  in  history.  We  pass  them  over  as  if  they  had  not 
been,  as  if  they  had  no  bearing  upon  the  more  apparent  things 
of  earth. 

How  is  it  that  the  writers  of  the  "Old  Almanac"  men- 
tion this  epoch  in  the  life  of  Richard  Plantagenet.  "  His  de- 
parture," they  say,  "smoothed  the  road  to  a  peace  between 
the  two  monarchs ;  and  a  truce  was  signed  in  the  Church  of 
Ayton,  September  29th,  A.D.  1497."  But  they  tell  us  not 
of  the  agony  of  that  hour,  when  his  last  stay  was  taken  from 
him,  when  once  more  he  was  sacrificed  by  those  who  had 
promised  to  protect  him— sacrificed,  not  because  he  was  base, 
wicked,  false — not  lor  any  fault,  failing,  or  crime,  but  simply 
because  he  was  unfortunate — not  because  his  rights  were 
doubtful,  but  because  the  interests  of  kings  were  against  them. 
Of  all  the  monarchs  and  princes  who  acknowledged,  support- 
ed, and  abandoned  him,  there  was  not  one  who  ever  pretend- 
ed to  have  been  deceived.  They  were,  at  least,  honest  enough 
not  to  varnish  their  selfishness  with  a  calumny.  Charles, 
Philip,  Margaret,  Maximilian,  James,  boldly  amiounced  that 
they  gave  him  up  because  it  was  for  their  interest  to  do  so. 
They  never  pretended  to  discover  a  fraud  or  to  expose  and 
punish  an  impostor. 

But  what  were  the  feelings  of  Richard  Plantagenet  duritig 


..  ENGLAND— PERKIN   WARBECK.  09 

that  ride  homeward  1  Were  they  the  less  hitter  hecause  he 
knew  his  misfortunes  undeserved  )  Each  man  will  judge  as 
he  feels.  Had  he  felt  that  they  were  merited,  he  must  have 
been  prepared  to  meet  with  them,  he  must  have  ever  known 
that  fate,  station,  happiness,  hung  upon  a  discovery  to  which 
a  moment  might  give  birth.  But  when  a  man  knows  and 
feels  himself  to  be  true  and  honest,  oh,  what  a  bitter  crush- 
ing of  the  heart  it  is  to  find  that  truth  and  honesty  are  as 
nothing  in  the  sight  of  men,  to  be  betrayed  by  those  you  trust- 
ed, to  be  cast  off  by  those  you  loved,  to  be  sacrificed  for  the 
tinsel  prize  of  a  momentary  interest.  But  what  were  the 
feelings  of  Richard  Plantagenet  ?  Vain  to  ask,  men  may  re- 
ply ;  can  one  see  into  his  heart  with  the  spectacles  of  history] 
No,  certainly  not.  We  can  not  see  all  the  anguish,  we  can 
not  distinguish  all  the  pangs ;  but  we  may  perceive  a  few  of 
them.  What  had  he  to  consider  ?  Ruin  was  before  him, 
and  all  around.  Whither  could  he  turn  for  help  1  Where 
could  be  find  refuge  ?  The  spider  policy  of  Henry  had  wound 
his  threads  round  him  in  every  direction.  France,  Burgundy, 
Germany,  Scotland,  were  all  closed  against  him.  Support 
was  taken  away.  Refuge  was  denied.  A  dark,  ominous  fu- 
ture, loomed  awfully  through  the  uncertain  mists  of  the  pres- 
ent ;  and  now  he  was  no  longer  alone  to  do  battle  against 
Fate  with  a  stout  heart,  as  he  had  previously  done.  The 
ties  to  life,  the  excitements  to  endeavor  were  both  strengthen- 
ed ;  but  at  the  same  time  the  gates  were  cast  open  to  a  thou- 
sand fears  and  apprehensions  which  could  find  no  entrance,  so 
long  as  all  that  he  staked  upon  the  struggle  was  his  own  life 
and  fortunes.  When  he  thought  upon  his  beautiful  and  be- 
loved bride,  well  might  his  heart  sink  with  feelings  such  as  he 
had  never  known  before,  well  might  he  ask  himself,  how  should 
he  act  for  and  to  her  ? 

To  take  her  from  her  happy  home  and  her  native  land,  to 
plunge  her  into  scenes  of  danger,  difl^iculty,  and  strife,  to  re- 
move her  from  affluence  and  ease  to  straitened  poverty  and 
toilsome  wandering,  would  be,  he  thought,  a  cruelty  and  an 
injustice.  But  yet,  how  to  part  with  her,  how  to  resign  that 
which  was  dearer  to  him  than  a  crown,  how  to  sacrifice  the 
brightest  and  the  purest  light  that  had  ever  shone  upon  his 
stormy  way  !  Yet  he  resolved  to  do  so.  But  though  he  had 
loved  truly  and  well,  he  knew  not  all  the  strength  of  woman's 
affection.  Catharine  knew  the  dangers,  the  difficulties,  the 
privations  that  lay  before  him  ;  she  foresaw  the  anguish,  and 
perhaps  the  degradation  that  was  in  store.     But  such  was  not 


100  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

the  monoent  that  a  true-hearted  woman  would  choose  to  fly 
from  her  husband's  side  ;  and  when  Richard  Plantagenet 
sailed  from  the  shores  of  Scotland  with  less  than  two  hundred 
followers,  Catharine  Gordon  his  wife  went  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

There  had  been  an  insurrection  in  Cornwall.  The  grasp- 
ing spirit  of  the  miserly  king  and  the  rapacity  which  he  tol- 
erated, if  he  did  not  encourage,  in  his  collectors,  had  roused 
the  indignation  of  the  lower  classes  of  his  subjects  to  a  higher 
point  than  it  had  ever  reached  before.  You  may  do  much 
with  an  Englishman,  ye  men  in  power,  but  beware  how  you 
finger  his  purse  too  carelessly.  The  Cornishmen  lost  patience. 
They  had  seen  many  a  subsidy  exacted  upon  the  plea  of  wars 
which  never  took  place,  and  expeditions  which  never  set  sail. 
They  believed  not  the  king's  pretenses  ;  they  did  not  like  the 
grant  which  Parliament  had  made ;  they  resisted  the  exac- 
tions of  the  collectors.  They  were  a  rude,  ill-disciplined  set ; 
but  they  found  two  or  three  of  much  courage  and  some  ability 
to  lead  them,  and  an  unprincipled  all-hazard  lord  to  put  him- 
self at  their  head.  They  were  misled  into  Kent,  at  a  mo- 
ment when  their  efforts  promised  fair,  and  were  defeated  by 
regular  forces  with  which  they  were  not  capable  of  contend- 
ing.  Their  three  leaders  were  executed,  and  the  rest  pardon 
ed  and  dismissed. 

This  lenity  is  not  altogether  unaccountable  in  a  man  who 
was  not  by  nature  lenient.  There  might  be  some  truth  in 
the  \aew  which  the  Cornishmen  took  thereof  Henry  was  in 
somewhat  perilous  circumstances.  There  was  a  Scottisli 
army  upon  the  English  border ;  there  was  great  discontent 
among  the  nobihty  of  the  kingdom.  Many  were  but  kept 
down  by  terror.  Others  waited  and  watched  for  opportunity. 
The  king's  title  to  the  throne  was  questioned.  A  rival  for 
the  crown  was  in  the  field  ;  and  it  was  not  safe  to  irritate  the 
great  mass  of  the  people  by  severities,  which  may  have  great 
effect  upon  individuals,  but  lose  their  terrors  when  exercised 
upoa  the  crowd.     The  Cornishmen,  returning  to  their  homes, 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBBOK.  101 

declared  that  Henry  had  not  dared  to  punish  them  ;  but  they 
should  have  added  that  they  had  not  yet  combined,  with  the 
offense  of  the  revolt,  the  crime  which  the  monarch  never  for- 
gave, an  assertion  of  the  rights  of  York. 

The  taxes  wore  still  collected.  The  same  odious  officers 
were  employed.  The  discontent  spread  far  and  wide  ;  and 
now,  taking  a  Wider  view,  the  conspirators  prepared  to  follow 
a  still  bolder  and  more  decided  course  than  before,  and  not 
only  to  resist  the  collection  of  the  taxes,  but  to  strike  at  the 
king  who  oppressed  them. 

It  was  rumored,  though  not  clearly  ascertained,  that  Rich- 
ard Plantagenet,  the  son  of  Edward  IV.,  after  leaving  the 
shores  of  Scotland,  had  once  more  landed  in  Ireland ;  and 
deputies  were  sent  from  the  men  of  Cornwall  and  Devonshire 
to  find  the  prince,  and  ask  him  to  put  himself  at  their  head. 
Many  had  fallen  from  him  in  despair  of  his  fortunes,  and 
those  who  were  with  him  were  neither  the  most  wise  nor  the 
most  experienced.  His  hopes  in  Ireland  had  been  extin- 
guished more  speedily  than  even  his  expectations  of  support 
from  Scotland.  His  means  of  sustaining  the  small  force 
which  was  with  him  were  rapidly  diminishing ;  and  pressed 
by  his  advisers,  and  led  on  by  specious  promises,  he  consented 
to  lead  the  insurgent  forces,  and  strike  one  more  stroke  for 
the  crown.  Still,  his  bright  and  beautiful  Catharine  accom- 
panied him  ;  and,  with  a  hundred  and  forty  fighting  men,  he 
set  sail  from  Ireland,  and  landed  on  the  Cornish  coast  on  the 
7th  of  September,  1498.  The  castle  on  St.  Micheal's  Mount 
fell  into  his  hands  at  once  ;  and  on  the  shores  of  that  beauti- 
ful bay  he  parted  forever  with  her  who  had  given  happiness 
to  some  portion,  at  least,  of  his  existence.  Catharine  re- 
mained in  the  castle,  while  he  marched  forward  to  Bodmin  ; 
and  the  first  news  she  heard  was,  that  in  a  few  hours  three 
thousand  men  in  arras  had  flocked  to  her  husband's  standard. 

His  forces  increased  daily ;  but  their  utter  want  of  disci- 
pline, their  ignorance  of  the  use  of  the  arms  they  possessed, 
and  the  impossibility  of  preserving  any  thing  like  order  among 
them,  filled  him  with  alarm  and  doubt.  He  issued  a  new 
proclamation,  however  ;  and,  knowing  that  a  first  success  is 
often  but  the  herald  of  many  more,  he  hastened  on  into  Dev- 
onshire, and  approaching  the  city  of  Exeter,  demanded  ad- 
mission within  its  gates.  He  promised  the  citizens  protection 
and  the  confirmation  of  all  their  privileges,  together  with  ad- 
vantages which  they  had  not  previously  enjoyed.  But  the 
men  of  Exeter  feared  the  Cornish  rabble  ;  their  walls  were 


102  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

considered  strong  in  those  days  ;  the  prince's  army  —  if  it 
could  be  considered  an  army — had  no  artillery ;  and  admis- 
sion into  Exeter  was  refused. 

All  who  had  any  skill  or  experience  in  the  camp  of  Rich- 
ard Plantagenet  saw  that  it  was  needful  to  obtain  some  im- 
portant town,  both  for  the  collection  of  stores  and  as  a  place 
of  retreat.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  storm  the  city ;  and 
the  attack  was  gallantly  made  and  gallantly  resisted.  One 
of  the  gates  was  partly  burned  ;  possession  w£ls  well-nigh  ob- 
tained of  the  walls  ;  but  the  attacking  parties  were  at  length 
repulsed,  and  the  Cornishmen  found  that  they  had  lost  two 
hundred  men.  They  looked  gloomy  and  discontented  ;  and 
news  reached  the  camp  that  immense  forces  were  marching 
rapidly  to  attack  them  in  the  open  field. 

Prosperity  has  always  friends.  The  Earl  of  Devonshire, 
Sir  Edmund  Carew,  Stafford,  duke  of  Buckingham,  Sir 
Thomas  Fulford,  Sir  William  Courtenay,  Sir  John  Croker, 
Edgecombe,  St.  Maure,  Trenchard,  and  a  whole  host  of 
Courtenays,  gathered  troops  together,  and  marched  toward 
Exeter,  while  the  Lord  d'Aubeny,  though  he  had  seen  a  near 
relative  sacrificed  to  the  jealousy  of  the  first  Tudor,  led  a 
powerful  army  against  the  undisciplined  forces  of  the  prince. 
The  news,  too,  ran  that  Henry  himself,  with  a  mighty  host, 
was  following  quick,  and  it  was  necessary  to  prepare  for  re- 
sistance or  to  seek  safety  in  flight. 

The  position  near  Exeter  could  not  be  maintained,  and 
Richard  retreated,  slowly  and  in  tolerable  order,  to  Taunton, 
in  Somersetshire.  There  he  prepared  to  resist  to  the  last ; 
and  some  there  were  among  his  followers  who  came  to  him, 
and  with  the  courage  of  despair  swore  to  shed  the  last  drop 
of  their  blood  in  the  maintenance  of  his  cause.  But  there 
were  others  who  looked  very  doubtful ;  and  several,  who  pos- 
sessed the  most  power  over  the  minds  of  the  people,  withdrew 
from  the  town,  and  were  heard  of  no  more. 

In  the  midst  of  busy  preparations  for  resistance,  the  day 
passed  with  the  eager  activity  of  desperate  courage,  leaving 
little  time  for  thought  to  wander.  But  night  fell  heavily, 
and  with  it  came  thd  darkness  of  dismay.  Vague  rumors 
spread.  Men's  hearts  grew  cold.  Sadness  fell  upon  the 
greater  part  of  the  small  force,  and  though  there  was  much 
silence,  there  was  little  sleep.  In  two  quarters,  however, 
there  were  persons  who  saw  and  talked.  There  was  a  group 
of  men  from  Bodmin  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  the 
sight  could  stretch  up  that  beautiful  vale  of  Taunton,  as  it 


ENGLAND^FERKIN   WARBECK.  103 

Jay  in  the  moonlight,  along  the  road  upon  which  the  first  par- 
ties of  the  enemy  were  expected  to  appear.  They  were  lead- 
ing men  of  the  insurrection,  and  they  spoke  in  low  but  eager 
tones.  What  was  it  they  discussed  ?  It  was  the  force 
marching  down  upon  them.  Some  said  a  hundred  thousand 
men  surrounded  them  on  all  sides.  That  was  nonsense ;  but 
we  can  hardly  believe  that  a  mite  in  a  microscope  is  not  a 
leviathan  ;  and  they  were  much  afraid.  The  Lord  d'Aubeny 
had  twenty  thousand  men.  The  Earl  of  Devon  came  on  with 
ten  thousand.  Buckingham  had  as  many.  The  king's  force 
was  unknown,  and  doubt  magnified  it.  Each  one  asked  the 
other  what  was  their  chance  of  victory,  what  was  their  chance 
of  safety  1  One  man  said,  in  a  low,  dull  tone,  that  the  only 
chance  was  in  delivering  a  great  enemy  into  a  tyrant's  hand. 
Thereupon  all  mused  ;  but  one  of  them  rose  and  went  away 
before  any  thing  was  decided. 

In  another  place,  at  a  house  near  the  church,  sat  Richard 
Plantagenet  and  a  small  group  of  friends,  receiving  the  re- 
ports of  scouts  and  messengers  from  a  distance.  Oh,  what  a 
sad  detail  was  poured  upon  the  ear  of  the  hapless  youth  that 
night  I  There  was  no  rising  in  bis  favor.  Those  who  had 
owned  his  right,  acknowledged  his  birth,  promised  their  aid, 
sat  still  and  dull.     There  was  an  oppressive  dread  upon  them. 

The  old  adherents  of  the  house  of  York,  the  friends,  the 
servants  of  his  father,  stirred  not.  Those  who  had  most  mur- 
mured at  the  cold  oppression  of  Tudor,  drew  not  a  sword  in 
support  of  a  cause  which  they  might  easily  have  rendered  suc- 
cessful. An  apathy  of  terror  benumbed  all  men.  Then  came 
the  tale  of  the  forces  mustering  against  him.  It  reached  him 
in  a  more  definite  but  not  less  terrible  form  than  the  rumors 
which  spread  among  his  followers.  Forty  thousand  men  were 
round  about  him,  and  he  had  not  six  thousand.  They  were 
all  trained  and  disciplined  ;  his  were  ignorant  and  disorderly. 
The  strife  would  be  a  massacre,  and  not  a  fight.  He  thought 
of  Catharine,  and  his  heart  was  very  sad.  His  friends  advised 
him  to  seek  safety  in  flight.  They  represented  that  the  Corn- 
ishmen  must  submit,  and  that  mercy  to  them,  at  least,  would 
follow  submission  ;  but  that  with  him  destruction  must  follow'' 
defeat. 

One  of  the  most  zealous,  or  the  most  fearful,  ordered  horses 
to  be  saddled  ;  but  the  prince  moved  not.  At  length  a  man 
entered  the  room  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear.  It 
was  the  same  who  had  left  the  other  group  ;  and  as  he  spoke, 
Richard  turned  very  pale.     He  had  met  with  unkindness ; 


104  DARK   SCENKS   OF   HISTORY. 

he  had  seen  his  hopes  blasted ;  he  had  found  friends  grow 
cold  ;  he  had  often  had  to  repine  at  promises  unfulfilled  and 
aid  withdrawn  ;  but  he  had  only  once  before  met  with  treach- 
ery, and  then  it  had  been  fatal  to  his  best  friends.  Richard 
hesitated  no  longer ;  but  the  question  was,  whither  should  he 
fly  ?  All  his  hopes,  all  his  afiections,  turned  toward  St.  Mi- 
chael's Mount ;  but  the  Earl  of  Devon  was  between  hira  and 
Cornwall,  and  escape  in  that  direction  was  cut  oft'. 

Time  pressed  ;  the  largest  body  of  the  enemy  was  near  at 
hand  ;  intelligence  was  received  that  even  during  the  dark- 
ness Henry's  officers  were  pushing  forward  their  parties  in  all 
directions  ;  and,  a  little  after  midnight,  Richard  Plantagenet 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  from  Taunton.  He  had 
five  or  six  friends  with  him,  chance  for  his  guide,  and  Provi- 
dence for  his  only  protection.  Thrice  during  that  night  was 
he  turned  from  his  course  by  meeting  with  bodies  of  the  ene- 
my ;  but  at  length  he  reached  the  monastery  of  Bewly,  which 
had  the  privilege  of  sanctuary.  With  slow  and  trembhng 
hands,  an  old  monk  brought  forward  the  register  ;  and,  while 
one  of  the  prince's  followers  watched  at  the  door,  Richard  of 
York  inscribed  his  name,  a^  a  sanctuary  man  of  Bewly.  The 
pen  was  hardly  out  of  his  hand,  when  the  watcher  at  the  door 
exclaimed, 

**  Make  haste,  my  lord,  make  haste.  There  is  a  body  of 
horse  coming  over  the  hill." 

All  the  others  registered  their  names  without  delay  ;  and, 
a  few  minutes  after,  D'Aubeny's  cavalry  surrounded  the  ab- 
bey, and  set  a  guard  at  every  gate,  to  prevent  the  escape  of 
any  one  from  within  the  walls. 

What  were  the  feelings  of  Richard  then?  They  must 
have  been  sad  indeed.  Hope  itself  seemed  at  an  end.  For- 
tune had  passed  away  forever.  He  was  in  the  power  of  an 
enemy  ;  and  nothing  but  the  thin  thread  of  superstition  kept 
the  sword  from  his  neck. 

Henry  did  not  venture  to  violate  a  sanctuary,  however. 
For  nine  long  days  the  cavalry  of  the  king  kept  their  watch 
round  the  abbey,  and  left  no  possibility  of  escape.  The  harsh- 
ness of  their  tone,  the  strictness  of  their  examination,  when 
any  monk  passed  beyond  the  walls,  made  the  good  brethren 
dread  that  the  poor  fugitives  would  be  dragged  from  their  place 
of  refuge  ;  but  at  length  a  royal  officer  presented  himself,  and 
was  admitted  to  Richard  Plantagenet.  They  conversed  long  ; 
but  no  one  knows  fully  what  were  the  ofiers  Henry's  envoy 
was  authorized  to  make.     Certain  it  is,  that  he  held  out  the 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBECK.       lOs' 

threat  of  violating  the  sanctuary,  unless  Richard  surrendered 
himself.  Certain  it  is,  that  he  promised  life,  at  least,  if  the 
prince,  by  yielding  himself  a  prisoner,  spared  his  enemy  an  act 
against  which  the  interests  and  the  pride  of  Rome  were  sternly 
armed.  Some  say  that  he  promised  more  ;  but,  at  all  events, 
Richard  of  York  knew  not  how  the  cunning  and  the  bold  can 
render  promises  of  no  avail,  and  keep  the  letter  of  justice 
while  they  cast  away  the  spirit.  After  much  bitter  thought, 
after  calculating  all  the  humiliation  he  might  have  to  under- 
go, he  yielded  himself  a  prisoner,  and  in  a  few  hours  was  on 
his  way  to  London,  guarded  by  a  large  party  of  horse. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PERKIN     WARBECK. 

"  Hurra  !  hurra  !"  the  boys  shouted  in  the  street.  "  Hur- 
ra !  hurra  I     Here  he  comes.     Here  he  comes  !" 

But  when  he  did  come,  every  tongue  was  silent ;  for,  as  he 
rode  on,  with  a  sufficient  space  between  those  who  guarded 
him  and  himself  for  all  the  crowd  to  see  his  person  perfectly, 
there  was  an  air  of  calm  dignity  in  his  carriage,  an  expression 
of  patient  firmness  in  his  coimtenance,  that,  for  a  time,  rebuked 
even  the  violence  of  a  Lancastrian  mob.  There  was  no  ap- 
pearance of  terror  or  of  shame.  Sad  he  might  be,  indeed  ;  he 
might  look  melancholy  and  gloomy ;  but  there  was  nothing 
which  could  be  rightly  called  dejection.  He  bore  his  head 
high  and  proudly  ;  he  rode  his  horse  with  ease  and  grace  ;  he 
looked  at  the  crowd  which  lined  the  streets  on  either  side 
with  a  grave,  firm  gaze ;  and  not  even  the  stare  of  many 
thousand  eyes,  nor  the  hootings  and  yellings  which  were  soon 
recommenced — perhaps  by  paid  voices — could  make  him  bend 
his  brow  or  cause  his  eyelids  to  wink.  Twice  they  took  him 
through  the  city.  Twice  they  exposed  him  to  the  gaze  of  the 
rude  multitude ;  but  they  produced  no  alteration  in  his  de- 
meanor.    His  firmness  remained  unshaken  from  first  to  last. 

The  King  of  England  was  disappointed  by  the  dignity  of 
his  captive  ;  and  the  composure  with  which  Richard  bore  in- 
dignity taught  many  men  to  believe  that  he  did  not  deserve 
it.     Nor  was  Henry's  next  step  more  successful.     He  placed 

E2 


106  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

his  captive  in  the  hands  of  strict  guardians,  with  orders  to 
watch  him  narrowly,  but  to  admit  the  nobiUty  of  England  to 
his  presence  with  sonie  show  of  liberty.  Many  went  to  see 
an  impostor,  but  found  a  prince — a  prince  in  every  look,  and 
word,  and  jesture.  They  went  to  see  the  son  of  a  poor  Flem- 
ish Jew  counterfeiting  Richard  of  York ;  they  found  an  En- 
glishman, noble  in  manners,  highly  educated,  speaking  the 
English  tongue  in  the  utmost  purity,  without  the  slightest 
foreign  accent.  They  looked  in  his  face  for  some  trace  of  that 
remarkable  race  which  God  chose  from  out  the  nations  of  the 
earth,  and  on  which  he  set  a  mark  that  has  never  been  ef- 
faced ;  and  they  found  no  Hebrew,  but  saw  the  living  image 
of  Edward  Plantagenet.  They  could  perceive  no  signs  of  im- 
posture there. 

Many  went  away  convinced  ;  and  it  became  necessary  to 
find  some  excuse  for  hiding  Richard  of  York  from  the  eyes  of 
the  people.  We  know  not  how  it  was  brought  about — Avhether 
new  indignities  were  threatened  or  delusive  hopes  held  out — 
but  Richard  escaped  from  those  who  watched  him  and  took 
his  way  toward  the  coast.  He  was  hotly  pursued,  for  his 
escape  was  instantly  discovered,  and  he  had  only  time  to  enter 
himself  as  a  sanctuary  man  at  Shene.  This  time,  however, 
Henry  respected  no  sanctuary.  The  fugitive  was  dragged 
Torth,  notwithstanding  the  remonstrance  of  the  prior,  and  car- 
ded straight  to  Westminster,  whence  he  was  removed  to  the 
Tower.*  It  was  rumored  through  London  that  he  had  made 
a  confession  of  imposture ;  and,  some  time  afterward,  such  a 
confession  was  pubUshed  by  the  king,  who  alleged  that  it  had 
been  publicly  pronounceJi  That  confession,  however,  was 
never  really  made  by  him  who  called  himself  Richard,  duke 
")f  York.  It  is  mentioned  by  subsequent  writers  favorable  to 
he  house  of  Tudor ;  but  eo temporaries  are  silent. t 

*  At  the  Monastery  of  Bethlehem,  founded  at  Shene,  by  Henry  V. 
Some  authors  have  it  that  the  prior  sought  Henry,  and  exacted  a  prom- 
i«e  from  him  to  spare  Richard's  life,  before  he  would  give  him  up. 

t  Polydore  Virgil,  who  visited  this  country  during  the  following 
year,  received  his  account  of  these  transactions,  I  believe  beyond  all 
doubt,  from  Henry  himself.  He  wrote  his  history  at  that  monarch's 
express  desire,  and  with  the  events  fresh  in  the  minds  of  all  men.  He 
relates  the  indignities  that  were  inflicted  upon  the  prisoner,  and  gives 
an  account  of  his  death ;  but  he  mentions  not  the  confession,  and  blasts 
the  tale  by  his  silence.  P'abian,  too,  the  dull  chronicler,  who  told  with- 
out method  or  discrimination  all  he  heard,  who  lived,  and  watched, 
and  wrote  at  the  very  time,  mentions  not  the  confession  either.  Poly- 
dore Virj^l  might,  perchance,  in  the  spirit  of  criticism,  know  and  reject 
a  confession  produced  by  the  king,  which  he  knew  to  be  spurious ;  but 


ENGLAND— PEIlIvIN    WARBECK  107 

And  where  was  Catharine  Gordon  all  this  time,  the  beau- 
tiful wife  of  the  unforttinate  Richard  ?  She  had  been  eager- 
it  had  evidently  not  been  produced  in  the  time  of  Fabian,  or  Fabian 
would  have  mentioned  it.  Grafton  is,  I  believe,  the  first  who  ever 
ventured  to  publish  this  confession,  which  never  could  have  been  made 
by  Richard  of  York  or  Perkin  VVarbeck,  as  it  is  full  of  absurdities  which 
account  in  no  degree  for  those  circumstances  that  tended  to  prove  the 
justice  of  his  claim.  He  is  said,  in  that  confession,  to  have  learned 
English  in  Flanders;  he  is  said  to  have  been  persuaded  by  the  Mayor 
of  Cork  to  assume  the  character  to  which  he  pretended ;  he  is  said  to 
have  completed  his  English  education  in  Ireland,  and  to  have  been 
selected  to  perform  the  character  of  Edward's  son  because  he  had  got 
on  some  silk  clothes  belonging  to  his  master.  But  there  is  no  explana- 
tion given  of  how  a  foreigner,  by  occasional  conversation  with  English- 
men in  Flanders,  and  a  few  weeks'  tuition  in  Ireland,  learned  to  speak 
English  with  the  most  perfect  purity  and  without  theslightest  foreign 
accent.  No  explanation  is  given  of  his  extraordinaiy  resemblance  to 
Edward  IV.  No  explanation  is  given  of  the  intimate  knowledge  which 
he  possessed  of  the  court  of  that  monarch,  and  of  the  minute  transac- 
tions which  occurred  toward  the  termination  of  his  reign ;  for,  in  the 
pretended  confession,  the  story  previously  circulated  of  his  having  been 
tutored  by  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  is  altogether  giveil  up,  and  her 
name  is  not  even  mentioned.  Neither  is  any  explanation  given  of  how 
he  persuaded  the  King  of  France,  the  archduke,  the  Duchess  of  Bur- 
gundy, and  the  King  of  Scotland  to  acknowledge  his  claims  in  the  full- 
est manner,  and  admit  that  he  had  proved  his  royal  birth.  It  is  clear 
that  the  confession  is  a  fabrication,  that  it  was  never  made  by  the  un- 
happy young  man  himself,  nor  even  published  till  long  after  his  death. 
Bacon  and  Hall  readily  adopted  any  tale  which  was  likely  to' please 
the  monarch  whom  they  served;  but  Hemy  might  have  produced 
much  more  convincing  testimony  of  the  imposture,  had  there  really 
been  any.  He  asserted  that  his  spies  in  Flanders  had  traced  the  whole 
of  Warbeck's  history  from  his  infancy,  and  obtained  positive  proof  of  all 
the  leading  facts.  Not  one  of  these  proofs  was  ever  brought  forward, 
although  they  might  easily  have  been  obtained  after  the  youth's  expul- 
sion from  Flanders.  Many  persons  were  still  living  who  had  seen, 
known,  and  conversed  with  Richard,  duke  of  York.  They  could  have 
been  confronted  with  the  pretender,  and  could  have  been  told  to  state 
if  they  believed  liira  to  be  the  son  of  Edward  or  not.  The  mother  and 
several  of  the  sisters  of  Ihe  prince  were  still  in  existence;  but  the 
mother  was  in  close  confinement,  and  was  never  asked  if  she  could 
recognize  her  son.  It  might  have  been  very  dangerous  to  do  so,  so 
dangerous,  indeed,  that  Henry  VII.  never  ventured  to  bring  Warbeck 
to  trial  for  treason,  or  for  any  crime  which  would  have  compelled  the 
production  of  evidence  regarding  his  identity  with  Richard  Plantage- 
net.  This  fact  has  not  been  sufficiently  dwelt  upon  by  historians.  It 
may  be  said  that  Henry  promised  him  life  on  his  surrendering  oat  of 
sanctuary.  But  that  did  not  at  all  preclude  his  bringing  him  to  trial 
for  heading  a  rebellion  in  the  kingdom.  He  jiromised  him  life,  but  not 
that  he  would  abstain  from  proving  him  an  impostor,  and  could  he  have 
done  so,  most  assuredly  he  would  have  done  it.  He  shrunk  from  the 
trial,  however,  got  possession  of  the  person  of  his  rival,  entangled  him 
in  schemes  which  created  an  offense  not  immediately  connected  with 
the  qtiestion  of  his  birth,  and  tried  and  executed  hina  for  that  offense. 


108  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

ly  sought  by  her  husband's  enemy  as  soon  as  he  had  crushed 
the  Cornish  rebellion,  and  perhaps,  happily  for  her,  his  move- 
ments were  so  quick  that  she  had  not  the  protracted  agony 
of  hearing  of  her  husband's  repulse  from  Exeter,  his  retreat 
upon  Taunton,  his  flight  and  captivity  by  slow  degrees. 
Anxiety  she  must  have  felt,  but  it  was  not  long  protracted. 
Ere  she  knew  of  a  difficulty  or  reverse,  St.  Michael's  Mount 
was  sununoned  to  surrender,  and  yielded  to  the  king ;  and 
she  learned  at  once  that  Richard  was  a  prisoner,  and  all 
bright  hopes  at  an  end.  She  was  brought  into  the  presence 
of  the  successful  usurper  at  Exeter,  with  the  tears  of  bitter 
anguish  flowing  down  her  cheeks  ;  but  her  grace,  her  beauty, 
her  distress,  touched  even  the  hard,  cold  heart  of  Henry.  He 
treated  her  with  tenderness,  with  gentleness,  at  least,  and 
commended  her  to  the  care  of  his  fair  queen,  where  womanly 
sympathy  might  soothe,  if  it  could  not  console.  It  did  soothe  ; 
and  Elizabeth  and  Catharine  wept  together ;  the  one  'for  the 
harshness,  the  other  for  the  misfortimes  of  her  husband.    . 

Doubtless,  Catharine,  whose  love  had  stood  every  test,  be- 
sought permission  to  share  the  lot  of  Richard,  to  fulfill  the 
duties  to  which  she  had  pledged  herself,  to  comfort  and  sup- 
port him  m  adversity.  But  such  was  not  the  policy  of  Hen- 
ry. He  suffered  his  queen  and  his  courtiers  to  call  her  the 
White  Rose,  and  thus  indirectly  to  acknowledge  the  title  of  his 
rival.  He  treated  her  with  decency  and  respect  himself,  not 
alone  on  account  of  her  sorrows  and  her  virtues,  but  on  ac- 
count of  her  relationship  to  the  King  of  Scotland ;  but  he 
never  suffered  her  to  see  her  husband  more.  No,  no ;  he 
^would  have  no  more  heirs  to  the  house  of  York.  There 
were  too  many  already.  Warwick  was  alive ;  the  persecu- 
ted, unhappy  Warwick  ;  he  who  from  early  youth  had  known 
no  home  but  a  prison ;  he  who,  without  a  fault,  had  been 
subjected  to  the  doom  of  a  malefactor,  deprived  of  all  the 
friendships  and  sympathies  of  life,  and  shut  out  from  the  fair 
face  of  nature,  till  the  common  objects  of  the  external  world, 
the  beasts,  the  birds  of  the  skies,  the  fields,  the  woods  were  as 
much  unknown  to  him  as  if  he  had  been  bom  blind.  War- 
wick and  Richard,  they  were  two  stumbling-blocks  in  the 
way  of  ambition.  The  throne  was  not  secure ;  the  crown 
seemed  to  tremble  on  Henry's  head.     He  hesitated  :  perhaps 

without  his  claims  being  brought  into  discussion.  Artfully  and  perse- 
venngly  was  the  whole  transaction  managed,  so  as  to  destroy  the  young 
claimant  to  the  Enghsh  throne,  without  ever  forcing  his  enemy  to  bring 
forward  proofs  that  his  claim  was  false. 


ENGLAND— PERK  IN  WARBECK.       109 

he  had  some  remorse.  But  Ferdinand  of  Aragon  gave  the 
impulse.  That  king  refused  to  bestow  his  daughter  Catha- 
rine upon  Arthur,  prince  of  Wales,  so  long  as  a  male  heir  of 
the  house  of  York  still  lived.  From  that  moment  it  was  de- 
cided they  must  die.  But  murder  startled  the  tender-con- 
scienced  king.  No ;  he  resolved  he  would  not  murder,  ex- 
cept under  form  of  law. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

Dragged  from  his  place  of  refuge  at  Shene,  exposed  to  ev- 
ery sort  of  indignity  for  two  whole  days,  Richard  Plantagenet 
knew  that  his  treatment  in  the  Tower  would  be  rigorous. 
He  gazed  up  at  the  gloomy  walls,  which  he  well  remembered ; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday  that  he  fled  from 
them.  All  the  busy  events  of  the  last  few  years  were  but  as 
an  idle  dream.  His  heart  was  very  sad.  He  looked  along 
the  path  of  memory,  and  saw  it  strewed  with  withered  flowers. 

Then  he  asked  himself  to  what  dungeon  he  was  to  be 
conveyed  ;  whether  he  should  ever  again  see  the  light  of  the 
sun,  or  hear  the  cheerful  tongues  of  fellow-men,  or  behold  the 
bright  face  of  nature,  or  exercise  his  limbs  with  freedom. 

He  was  surprised  to  find  that  no  such  severity  as  he  had  ex- 
pected was  exercised  toward  him.  A  light  and  cheerful  cham- 
ber, attendants  not  irreverent,  an  ample  preparation  for  his 
bodily  comfort,  tended  to  relieve  his  mind.  But  yet,  at  first, 
he  was  closely  imprisoned,  and  the  days  were  rendered  weary 
by  vacant  solitude.  He  was  left  to  think  over  his  fate,  to  give 
his  heart  up  to  bitter  regrets,  to  recall  the  image  of  her  whom 
he  loved  but  saw  no  more,  to  dream  of  what  might  have  been, 
and  to  long  for  the  power  of  striking  one  more  blow  at  him 
who  wronged  and  oppressed  him. 

His  heart  burned  within  him  to  think  how  fortune  favored 
the  cold-hearted  Tudor,  and  how  calumny  and  falsehood  had 
full  room  to  deal  with  the  name  of  one  who  had  found  no  sup- 
port in  truth,  in  honesty  no  defense. 

"  He  has  already  published  far  and  wide,"  thought  the  un- 
happy youth,  "  that  I  am  a  low  and  infamous  impostor,  and  no 


110  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

one  has  come  forward  to  refute  it.  The  magic  of  this  man's 
fortune  seems  to  overawe  the  princes  of  the  earth,  so  that  they 
dare  not  raise  the  voice  in  behalf  of  truth  and  justice.  Why 
is  my  aunt  of  Burgundy  silent  ?  Why  does  the  King  of 
France  not  pubhsh  in  the  face  of  the  vrorld  the  proofs  of  my 
birth  which  I  gave  him  ?  Why  does  the  King  of  Scotland 
not  declare  the  evidence  which  led  him  gladly  to  ally  his  own 
blood  with  that  of  Plantagenet  ?  Where  is  my  poor  mother, 
that  she  speaks  not  one  word  in  my  behalf?  Where  is  my 
sister  Elizabeth,  that  she  does  not  tell  the  tale  of  my  escape  ? 
All,  all  bowed  beneath  the  influence  of  this  fortunate  usurper  I 
All  without  power  or  without  courage  I" 

Wearily,  wearily  passed  those  days,  till  hfe  became  a  bur- 
den and  time  a  heavy  load.  At  length,  nearly  at  the  end  of 
a  month,  some  slight  change  was  made.  There  was  a  man, 
a  heavy,  dull-browed  man,  who  used  to  serve  the  prince  in 
prison  wiih  much  civility  and  care ;  and  now  he  often  looked 
at  him  earnestly  and  thoughtfully,  and  sometimes  stayed  to 
speak  a  few  words.  He  gave  him  some  little  piece  of  news 
from  without  :  tidings  from  France  or  Italy,  where  great 
things  were  taking  place ;  some  idle  courtly  scandal,  or  the 
history  of  pageant  or  procession  that  was  the  wonder  of  the 
day. 

Richard  Plantagenet  Ustened  eagerly,  for  any  thing  that 
broke  the  dullness  of  the  day  was  a  comfort.  It  was  like  the 
singing  of  a  small  bird  in  a  desert.  He  pondered  over  the  in- 
terest which  petty  things  had  acquired  in  his  mind ;  and  look- 
ing up  in  the  man's  face,  with  a  sad  smile,  he  said, 

"  The  time  was,  my  friend,  when  I  should  have  little  heeded 
such  matters;  but  now  your  tales  are  my  only  relief  Per- 
haps you  know  not,  or  disbelieve,  that  I  once  mingled  in  all 
the  splendor  of  a  court,  enjoyed  such  scenes  as  you  describe, 
took  part  in  such  events  as  you  recount,  till  habit  made  them 
pall  upon  the  mind,  and  I  knew  not  that  I  was  sharing  in 
things  which  were  the  ambition  of  men  who  saw  not  their 
emptiness  as  I  did.  So  it  was,  however.  Here,  in  this  Tower 
of  London,  was  I  received  as  a  prince  long  ago,  and  then 
treated  as  a  captive,  but  still  as  a  sovereign's  son  and  brother. 
Many  courts,  too,  have  I  seen :  England,  and  France,  and  Bur- 
gimdy,  and  Scotland  ;  and  in  all  have  I  lived  as  a  prince. 
You  know  not  these  things,  but  still  so  it  is." 
V  "  I  know  them  right  well,  my  lord,"  replied  the  man ;  "  and 
I  know,  too,  that  if  you  had  your  rights  you  would  still  be  a 
prince.     I  have  seen  your  royal  father  many  a  time  ;  and  it 


ENGLAND— PERKIN    WARBECK.  Ill 

needs  but  to  look  in  your  face  to  see  who  you  are.  But  what 
skills  it  a  man  like  me  to  speak  of  such  things  ?  I  am  but  a 
poor  servant  of  Sir  John  Digby,  a  hard  master.  However, 
you  look  ill  as  well  as  sad ;  and  well  you  may,  shut  up  here 
without  air  or  exercise.  Might  I  advise,  you  would  write  a 
few  words  to  Sir  John,  requesting  greater  liberty.  He  would 
surely  give  it,  I  think." 

"  But  how  shall  I  write  ?"  asked  the  prince.  "What  can 
I  call  myself  ?  I  will  never  take  the  name  they  would  force 
upon  me ;  and  if  I  use  my  own,  it  will  be  a  matter  of  offense." 

"  Call  yourself  the  prisoner  of  the  Cold  Harbor  Tower,"  re- 
plied the  man,  readily.  "  There  can  be  no  harm  in  that,  when 
you  seek  to  write  to  the  lieutenant." 

The  paper  was  brought,  the  letter  written ;  and  the  man 
carried  it  away,  and  laid  it  before  Sir  John  Digby,  who  occu- 
pied some  apartments  in  the  royal  palace.  The  knight  smiled 
when  he  took  it,  and  the  man  smiled  too. 

"  Go  tell  him  I  must  ask  permission  of  the  king,"  said  Dig- 
by.     "  Then  return,  and  I  will  send  you  to  his  majesty." 

On  the  following  morning  the  doors  of  Richard  Plantagenet's 
prison  were  thrown  open  to  him,  and  he  was  told  that  he  might 
roam  at  liberty  within  the  inner  walls,  provided  he  presented 
himself  each  night  half  an  hour  before  sunset.  Oh  I  how 
grateful  did  he  feel  to  the  man  who  bore  him  the  message  : 
and  yet  that  man  was  betraying  him.  He  thanked  him  eager- 
ly. He  went  out  with  him  down  the  stair.  He  walked  with 
him  through  the  courts,  and  round  the  buildings,  and  told  him 
how  he  had  played  there  in  boyhood,  pointing  out  to  him  the 
different  towers  in  which  he  had  lodged,  and  giving  him  many 
an  anecdote  of  former  times. 

**  Who  dwells  there  now  ?"  he  asked,  pointing  with  his 
hand  to  one  of  the  towers,  where,  at  a  grated  window,  he  had 
seen  a  face. 

" '  Tis  the  poor  E  arl  of  Warwick, ' '  answered  the  man .  "He 
has  been  there  many  a  year." 

"What,  my  cousin?"  asked  the  prince.  "Would  that  I 
could  speak  with  him,  and  cheer  him.  We  are  both  in  the 
(same  unhappy  case." 

"  It  were  very  easy,"  answered  the  man.  "  I  can  give  you 
admission  to  him  when  I  will." 

Richard  mused. 

"  It  were  better,"  he  said,  "  to  let  him  know  that  I  am  com- 
ing. Tell  him  that  I  will  be  with  him  at  this  time  to-mor- 
row.    Say  who  I  am.     He  may,  perchance,  remember  me. 


112  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

for  we  were  nearly  of  an  Age  ;  and  though  I  saw  him  but  lit- 
tle, for  his  father  was  my  father's  enemy,  yet  I  recollect  him 
well." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  replied  the  man  ;  "  and  I  will  come  and 
fetch  you,  or  send  one  of  ray  comrades." 

At  the  same  hour  the  next  day  the  man  came  himself,  and 
Richard  foUpwed  him  gladly  to  the  prison  of  the  Earl  of  War- 
wick. The  door  was  opened  by  his  guide,  who  withdrew  as 
soon  as  the  prince  had  entered.  Before  him  sat  a  young  man, 
of  some  four-and-twenty  years  of  age,  somewhat  shorter  than 
himself,  and  with  his  mustache  and  beard  grown  long.  His 
face  was  pale,  and  there  was  a  dull,  despairing  look  in  his  eyes 
which  was  painful  to  behold.  He  gazed  earnestly  on  Richard 
as  he  entered,  and  an  expression  of  doubt — almost  of  fear — 
came  upon  his  face.  He  tried  to  cover  it  with  a  faint,  sneer- 
ing smile,  and  asked  at  once, 

"  Who  are  you,  young  man  ?     What  brings  you  here  ?" 

"  Edward  Plantagenet,"  said  Richard,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  him,  "  I  am  your  cousin  Richard,  your  brother  in  misfor- 
tune, your  fellow-prisoner.  You  are  much  changed.  Good 
Heaven  I  can  I  be  so  altered  also  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  you,  sir,"  said  Warwick,  coldly.  **  My 
cousin  Richard  died  long  ago — at  least,  so  men  say." 

*'  Men  say  many  a  falsehood,"  replied  Richard,  seating  him- 
self "  I  feel  so  little  difference  in  myself  that  I  had  fancied 
you  would  know  me  at  once ;  and  although  you  are  much 
changed,  yet  I  can  trace  in  your  face  many  a  well-remembered 
line.     Do  you  not  remember  your  cousin  Richard  at  all  ?" 

"  Ay,  do  I,  right  well,"  replied  the  earl ;  "a  curly-headed 
boy,  somewhat  shorter  than  myself:  and  you  are  somewhat 
like  him  ;  but  how  can  I  know  that  you  are  he,  indeed  ?" 

Richard  smiled. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  "  when  two  boys  played  in 
the  gardens  at  Eltham,  and  tried  to  shoot  their  arrows  over 
the  roof  of  the  great  hall  ?  how  one  sent  his  shaft  through 
the  window,  and  was  frightened  at  what  he  had  done ;  but 
the  other  gave  him  his  own  arrow  instead,  and  took  the  blame 
upon  himself?" 

"  My  cousin  I  my  cousin  I"  cried  Warwick,  throwing  his  arms 
round  him.  "  You  are  Richard  indeed.  Methinks,  if  you 
were  King  of  England,  you  would  not  keep  me  a  prisoner  here." 

•'  I  should  have  no  need,"  replied  Richard.  **  'Tis  only 
usurpers  who  have  cause  to  fear.  You  have  been  hardly  dealt 
with  ;  and.  Heaven  help  me,  Edward  I  I  can  not  do  you  right. 


%■<'. 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBECK.  113 

But  we  may  comfort  one  another.  Nay,  perhaps  the  time 
may  come  when  we  may  help  each  other  Ukewise." 

*'  Such  hopes  are  vain,"  said  Warwick,  in  a  melancholy 
tone.  "  For  fifteen  years,  hope  in  my  heart  has  been  wither- 
ing away.  Even  were  I  free,  what  should  I  be  fit  for,  as  i^- 
norant  of  the  wide  world  around  me  as  a  child — nay,  God 
help  me  I  more  ignorant  far ;"  and  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
as  they  rested  on  the  table. 

**  Cheer  up;  cheer  up,"  said  Richard,  after  gazing  at  him 
for  a  moment,  with  many  an  indignant  thought  crossing  his 
mind  at  the  sight  of  what  tyranny  can  dare  to  do  against  pow- 
erless innocence.  "  All  the  knowledge  which  is  needful  of 
this  world  is  soon  acquired ;  and,  I  fear  me  much,  the  school 
of  experience  is  as  dangerous  a  one  to  the  heart  as  it  is  in- 
structive to  the  wit.  It  teaches  man  to  be  hard,  suspicious, 
selfish  ;  to  have  no  trust  in  man's  professions,  no  confidence  in 
his  constancy,  no  expectation  of  honor,  truth,  or  virtue,  where 
it  has  not  been  tried  seven  times  in  the  fire.  It  teaches  man 
to  strive  for  himself  alone,  knovidng  that  every  man  vvdll  strive 
against  him.  It  teaches  every  man  to  yield  nothing  to  the 
claims,  the  rights,  the  needs  of  others,  knowing  that  they  will 
yield  naught  to  him.  Thank  God  !  I  have  not  lived  long 
enough  in  that  world  to  learn  all  this,  but  only  to  learn  that 
it  is  so.  Come,  Edward,  I  will  be  your  teacher,  if  I  am  per- 
mitted, as  I  trust,  to  see  you ;  and  you  shall  hear  from  me 
what  the  world  is,  such  as  my  experience  shows  it." 

"  You  must  begin  at  the  first  rudiments,  Richard,"  replied 
his  cousin,  looking  up  with  a  rueful  smile.  "  I  know  not  yet 
my  very  letters.  Show  me  a  tree  or  flower,  I  can  not  tell 
you  what  it  is,  unless  it  be  one  of  the  weeds  that  grow  out  of 
these  old  walls.  I  know  not  a  bird  that  flies  through  the  air, 
except  the  robin  that  perches  on  the  window-sill,  and  sings 
till  I  think  it  the  happiest  of  created  beings,  or  the  pigeon 
that  whirls  before  the  window,  and  makes  me  envy  it  its  glo- 
rious liberty." 

"  Alas  I  alas  !  this  is  very  sad,"  said  Richard  Plantagenet. 
"  Oh,  what  a  curse  must  that  man  draw  upon  his  head,  my 
poor  cousin,  who  dares  to  deny,  to  an  unoffending  being  like 
yourself,  the  blessings  which  a  God  of  Mercy  poured  forth  for 
the  benefit  of  all.  There  must  be  a  future  state,"  he  added, 
musing.  "  This  man  is  prosperous,  successful  in  all  he  does, 
pampered  by  fortune  to  the  sating  of  all  desires.  There  must 
be  a  future  state,  where  there  is  retribution.  Still,  we  may 
be  a  comfort  to  each  other ;  and  all  that  I  can  teach,  I  will. 


114  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

Who  can  say  what  may  be  the  purposes  of  fate  ?  Prisoner 
as  I  am  here,  I  may  still  some  day  sit  upon  the  throne  of  En- 
gland, and,  if  so,  I  will  redress  these  things.  Or  it  may  please 
Heaven  that  I  shall  be  taken  hence,  and  you  may  hold  the 
scepter.  If  so,  remember  these  hours.  It  were  better,  I  do 
believe,  for  all  mankind,  if  kings,  ere  they  received  power, 
were  chastised  by  adversity." 

,  "  Not  too  severely,"  answered  Warwick  ;  "  for  I  have  felt, 
and  still  feel,  that  misfortune  may  be  carried  to  a  pitch  which 
renders  the  heart  callous  instead  of  sensible — where  man  be- 
comes so  hardened  by  the  repeated  blows  of  Fate,  that  he 
learns  to  estimate  suflering  too  lightly.  I  know  not  whether 
I  should  make  a  good  king ;  I  do  not  think  I  should ;  but 
neither  kingdom  nor  liberty  will  ever  be  mine." 

"  We  can  ndt  tell,"  answered  Richard  Plantagenet.  "  This 
man,  who  let  me  in  to  see  you  just  now,  seems  well  disposed 
toward  us  both.  Perhaps  by  his  means,  some  time  or  anoth- 
er, we  may  obtain  our  freedom.  At  all  events,  there  are  so 
many  sudden  turns  in  human  fate,  changes  of  such  import- 
ance, brought  about  by  the  most  remote  and  trifling  accidents, 
that  we  should  never  despair  while  there  is  life.  When  first 
I  was  brought  hither,  I  too  gave  way  to  deep  despondency ; 
but  now  this  good  man's  conversation,  and  the  greater  degree 
of  liberty  he  has  procured  me,  have  revived  my  expectations, 
and  made  me  think  that  all  is  not  yet  lost." 

'•  My  father  died  in  the  Bovv^er  tower  out  yonder,"  an- 
swered Warwick.  "  I  have  withered  here  for  more  than 
thirteen  years ;  and  I  may  well  have  learned  that,  for  me  at 
least,  there  is  no  hope.  But,  even  if  there  were,  that  man 
could  not  raise  it  up.  He  is  a  dull  and  sullen  being,  who 
never  gave  me  a  kind  word  or  pitiful  look.  Trust  him  not 
too  far,  Richard,  for  I  doubt  his  honesty." 

"I  will  have  good  proof  before  I  trust,"  answered  Richard 
Plantagenet,  "  though  what  he  could  gain  by  injuring  me,  I 
know  not.  By  serving  me,  it  is  true,  he  would  risk  much 
and  gain  little.  However,  whatever  we  do,  it  must  be  done 
slowly  and  deliberately  ;  but  the  very  hope  of  deliverance  is 
something  which  I  would  cherish,  even  if  I  knew  it  to  bo 
false  ;  for  it  will  give  life  to  existence  within  these  cold  walls, 
where  otherwise  life  were  lifeless." 

"  Lifeless,  indeed,"  answered  Warwick.  "  Heavens,  what 
a  life  mine  has  been,  without  one  act  for  fifteen  long  years ; 
without  a  remembrance.  I  look  back,  and  it  is  all  a  blank. 
One  day  after  another,  the  same,  ever,  ever  the  same.     The 


ENGLAND— PERKIN  WARBEOK.        115 

sun  rises,  the  sun  sets.  The  day  is  fine,  or  it  is  foul.  There 
is  sunshine,  or  there  is  rain  ;  the  mid-day  meal,  the  supper  at 
eventide ;  these  are  all — all  upon  which  memory  has  to  rest 
— all  to  which  hope  can  look  forward.  Now,  perhaps,  there 
may  be  a  little  change,  there  may  be  something  more  for  me 
i;a  existence.  I  shall  think  each  afternoon  that  you  are  com- 
ing the  following  day,  and  in  the  morning  wait  watching  the 
hours.  See  you  my  clock  there,"  and  he  pointed  with  his 
hand  to  some  lines  traced  with  chalk  upon  the  floor.  "  As 
the  light  travels  round,"  he  said,  "  from  one  of  those  marks  to 
another,  I  know  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour  has  gone  by  ;  and 
then  the  chimes  of  the  castle  clock  give  me  the  regular  hours  ; 
so  I  know,  at  least,  how  time  flies,  if  I  know  nothing  else." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here?"  asked  Richard  Plantagenet. 

"  Well-nigh  three  quarters  of  an  hour,"  replied  Warwick; 
"  and  they  will  not  let  you  stay  much  longer,  I  am  sure. 
Your  being  here  at  all  is  a  miracle  to  me,  for  I  have  seen  no 
human  face  but  that  of  Digby,  or  his  servants,  for  the  last 
three  years.  Now,  however,  there  is  a  relief;  for,  were  there 
no  other  tie  between  us,  it  would  still  be  a  blessing  indeed  to 
hold  even  a  short  commune  with  a  fellow-creature." 

Barely  had  he  finished  when  the  lieutenant's  servant  again 
opened  the  door,  and  put  in  his  head,  saying, 

'*  I  must  not  let  you  stay  longer,  my  lord  ;  but  I  doubt  not, 
some  day  soon,  if  you  will  be  very  quiet  and  submissive,  to 
gain  leave  for  both  of  you  to  walk  in  the  private  garden  for 
a  short  time  each  day." 

Warwick  started,  and  looked  at  him  hard,  and  the  man 
turned  away  his  face ;  but  Richard  Plantagenet  seemed  to 
perceive  nothing,  and,  taking  leave  of  his  cousin,  followed  the 
lieutenant's  servant  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 


There  were  busy  consultations,  from  time  to  time,  in  the 
dark  hours  of  night.  The  servants  of  the  lieutenant  seemed 
to  have  much  business  in  the  chamber  of  Richard  Plantag- 
enet.     First  one   came,  then  another,  then  another;    and 


116  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

each  stayed  with  him  long ;  but  there  were  those  in  the 
prison  who  knew  what  he  knew  not,  that  ever,  when  they 
left  him,  they  bent  their  steps  toward  the  lieutenant's  lodg- 
ing, and  remained  closeted  with  him  in  secret.  Sir  John 
!Digby  laughed  often,  and  talked  gayly.  He  seemed  to  have 
become  a  marvelous  good-humored  man.  Under  his  orders, 
the  prison  of  the  Tower  had  apparently  changed  its  character^ 
It  was  no  longer  a  gloomy  place  of  severity  and  restraint. 
Prisoners  were  allowed  to  mingle  with  each  other,  with  all 
decent  freedom.  They  had  leave  to  walk  in  the  gardens,  -with 
no  other  security  than  a  warder  at  the  gate.  Even  the  Earl 
of  Warwick,  the  poor  captive  of  so  many  years,  was  allowed 
to  enjoy  something  which  seemed  to  him  like  liberty ;  and 
long  and  earnestly  would  he  talk  with  his  cousin  Richard,  as 
they  walked  to  and  fro,  along  the  smooth,  hard,  dry  pathway 
of  the  garden,  at  a  distance  from  the  rest  of  the  prisoners. 

An  air  of  light  and  hope  had  come  upon  Richard  Plantag- 
enet.  A  new  spirit  seemed  to  have  entered  into  his  bosom, 
and  to  have  dispersed  the  dark  cloud  which  hung  upon  him 
when  he  first  entered  the  gates  of  the  Tower.  Activity,  en- 
ergy, endeavor,  they  give  life  to  hope ;  and  Richard  was  full 
of  them. 

Warwick  himself,  too,  seemed  roused.  The  dull,  heavy 
gloom  which  had  so  long  possessed  him,  was  in  part  removed. 
He  began  to  fancy  there  was  such  a  thing  as  hope.  Hope 
begat  confidence ;  and,  though  he  thought  it  strange  that 
men  who  had  so  long  dealt  harshly  with  him  should  sudden- 
ly unbend  altogether  toward  his  cousin  Richard,  yet  he  could 
not  but  own  there  was  a  grace  and  charm  about  his  com- 
panion's manner,  which  might  well  move  and  win  hearts, 
that  otherwise  were  hard. 

From  time  to  time,  some  of  the  other  prisoners  would  come 
and  speak  for  a  few  moments  with  the  two  princes,  with  a 
reverent  manner  and  in  a  low  tone.  Now  those  prisoners  were 
more  in  number  than  they  had  been  when  Richard  first  en- 
tered the  Tower  ;  for  several  of  those  who  had  been  his  com- 
panions in  the  field  and  in  the  sanctuary  had  been  lately 
sent  in  to  the  same  prison  with  himself  Though  now  in  ad- 
versity, though  nothing  but  difficulty  and  danger  surrounded 
him,  no  portion  of  their  respect  was  withdrawn.  He  was  to 
them,  as  he  had  ever  been,  the  son  of  Edward  Plantagenet ; 
and  fortune  made  no  difierence  in  their  eyes. 

There  was  an  old  man,  however,  a  dull,  stern  old  man, 
who  had  been  for  many  years  a  captive  in  the  Tower.     He 


ENGLAND— PERKIiN   WARBECK.  117 

seldom  spoke  with  any  one.  He  never  spoke  with  either  of 
the  princes ;  but,  from  time  to  time,  as  they  walked  in  the 
gardens — for  he  too  enjoyed  the  imusual  privileges  granted — 
he  turned  a  cold,  sarcastic  look  upon  them,  and  then,  averting 
his  eyes  again,  resumed  his  meditations.  One  day,  however, 
when  Richard  and  Warwick  were  going  forth  together,  he 
came  near,  and  said,  in  a  low,  gloomy  tone, 

"  Young  men,  they  are  befooling  you.  When  a  cat  plays 
with  a  mouse,  it  is  but  to  devour  it.  When  tyrants  become 
gentle,  they  have  some  dark  end  in  view." 

He  said  no  more,  but  walked  on,  and  never  more  approach- 
ed them. 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  what  that  man  says,"  remarked 
Warwick,  as  they  proceeded  toward  their  several  rooms  ;  for 
Warwick  was  easily  depressed.  "  I  can  not  fancy  that  these 
servants  of  Sir  John  Digby  should  really  change  so  rapidly 
from  the  stern,  harsh  men  they  were  before  you  came,  to  kind 
and  zealous  friends." 

"  It  were  well,  indeed,  to  try  them  further  ere  we  trust 
them,"  answered  Richard.  "  They  have  named  Thursday 
night  for  our  enterprise.  I  will  put  it  off  for  a  week,  which 
will  give  us  more  opportunity  to  observe." 

He  did  so ;  but  nothing  appeared  to  shake  his  confidence. 
The  men  whom  he  had  gained  to  favor  his  escape,  with  War- 
wick and  four  of  the  other  prisoners,  seemed  no  way  surprised 
or  disappointed  at  his  change  of  purpose. 

"  Perhaps  it  were  better,"  said  the  man  to  whom  he  spoke. 
"The  nights  will  be  longer  and  darker  a  week  hence ;  and 
there  will  be  more  time  for  preparation." 

Richard  of  York  told  Warwick  the  result ;  and  they  sat 
long  together  the  next  day,  pondering  and  considering  their 
scheme  in  all  its  aspects. 

"  Would  to  Heaven,"  said  Richard,  **  that  in  this  week  of 
delay  I  could  find  means  to  give  notice  to  my  dear  Lady 
Catharine,  and  beseech  her  to  join  me  on  the  road." 

"  Why  can  you  not  ?"  asked  Warwick.  *'  Methinks,  if 
these  men  are  faithful,  they  could  easily  be  brought  to  convey 
to  her  a  letter  or  message.  Oh  Heaven,  what  a  blessing  it 
must  be  to  have  some  one  whose  fate  is  linked  to  yours  by 
the  sweet  bonds  of  affection.  You  think  yourself  unfortunate, 
Richard,  in  having  been  deprived  of  a  throne,  denied  your 
birth-right  and  your  state  ;  but,  had  God  given  to  me  such  a 
companion  as  you  describe  your  wife,  I  should  have  thought 
I  possessed  a  treasure  in  her  heart,  to  which  the  throne  of  the 


IW  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

world  could  add  nothing.  Were  I  you,  I  could  not  go  with- 
out trying,  at  least,  to  take  her  with  me." 

'•  Yes,  you  would,"  replied  Richard  ;  "for  if  you  loved  as  I 
love,  you  would  not  risk  her  safety.  Should  these  men  prove 
unfaithful,  while  I  refrain  from  telling  her  of  my  plans,  I 
hazard  naught  but  my  own  life  ;  but  if  I  make  her  a  sharer 
of  the  secret,  I  may  put  it  in  the  tyrant's  power  to  strike  at 
her  as  well  as  me ;  and  that  I  will  never  do.  If  I  escape, 
she  will  find  means  to  join  me,  of  that  I  am  right  sure  ;  but 
BO  long  as  danger  surrounds  me  on  every  side,  I  will  take  my 
course  alone." 

The  day  came  at  length  ;  and  all  preparations  were  made. 
Four  servants  of  Sir  John  Digby  had  been  gained  ;  and  every 
thing  was  ready  by  the  hour  of  midnight.  The  prisoners  who 
were  in  the  secret  were  collected  in  the  chamber  of  Richard 
Plantagenet ;  and  they  only  waited  for  the  arrival  of  him 
who  was  to  be  their  guide,  to  proceed  to  the  lieutenant's 
lodging,  in  order  to  secure  his  person  and  obtain  the  keys.  It 
was  calculated  that  the  number  engaged  would  be  quite  suf- 
ficient to  overpower  the  small  guard  on  night  duty,  and  so  to 
secure  the  soldiers,  that  no  alarm  would  be  given.  At  length 
the  man  appeared,  bearing  a  common  warder's  lantern  in  his 
hand  ;  the  lights  in  the  chamber  were  extinguished  ;  and  in 
darkness  and  silence  the  party  descended  the  stairs. 

All  was  quiet  in  the  courts  and  buildings  around ;  and 
they  traversed  the  open  space  before  the  lieutenant's  lodging 
without  impediment,  guided  by  the  lantern  through  the  deep 
obscurity  of  a  November  night.  Richard  Plantagenet  follow- 
ed close  after  the  guide,  with  Warwick  a  little  behind  him, 
and  the  rest  following ;  and  thus  they  reached  the  door  of  the 
building  to  which  they  went.  It  was  quietly  opened  by  the 
man  who  preceded  them ;  and  he  went  in.  Richard  was 
about  to  follow ;  but  the  moment  he  put  his  foot  upon  the 
threshold  he  found  a  partisan  at  his  breast.  He  now  knew 
that  he  was  betrayed,  and  was  turning  to  his  followers  to 
bid  them  escape  quickly,  when,  by  the  faint  light,  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  weapons  all  around  them.  Resistance  would  have 
been  in  vain  ;  and  the  whole  party  were  easily  made  prison- 
ers, and  conveyed  to  separate  chambers. 

WKdn  day  broke,  it  found  Richard  Plantagenet  with  his 
hcdd  still  leaning  on  his  hand,  in  the  position  which  he  had 
first  assumed  when  brought  back  from  his  unfortunate  at- 
tempt. 

"  The  cup  is  full,  and  I  must  drink  it  to  the  dregs." 


ENGLAND— PERKIN   WARBECK.  IIJ? 

That  was  the  sum  of  all  his  thoughts  ;  and  those  words  he 
had  repeated  to  himself  frequently  throughout  the  liight. 
But,  though  all  hope  was  gone,  dignity  and  courage  did  not 
forsake  him  in  the  last,  most  trying  hours.  It  was  announced 
to  him,  not  long  after,  that  he  was  to  be  tried  on  the  16th  of 
November  by  a  commission  of  oyer  and  terminer. 

"  For  what  crime  ?"  he  asked. 

"  For  an  attempt  to  break  prison,  in  order  to  excite  insur- 
jrection  in  the  country,"  was  the  reply. 
'  Richard  mused  gloomily  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said, 

"  He  has  been  successful !" 

Those  words  were  the  only  comment  he  uttered  ;  but  they 
showed  that  he  now  understood  the  whole ;  that  he  saw  the 
scheme  by  which  he  had  been  betrayed,  and  the  object  of 
that  scheme.  He  saw  that  it  had  been  needful  to  his  enemy 
to  fix  upon  him  some  offense  which  brought  not  into  question 
his  birth  and  claims,  and  that  Henry  had  indeed  been  suc- 
cessful. He  knew  that  it  was  all  over,  that  his  last  stake 
was  played,  that  the  game  was  lost ;  and  he  nerved  his  mind 
for  the  final  endurance. 

The  court  was  held  at  the  time  appointed.  The  prisoner 
was  brought  before  it.  He  protested  against  its  competency, 
but  he  made  no  defense.  He  knew  that  defense  was  useless. 
The  judgment  went  against  him  ;  but  he  was  not  aware  till 
the  judge  spoke  that  there  was  a  degradation  to  undergo. 
He  had  fancied  that  the  block  and  the  ax  were  to  be  his 
doom,  not  that  he  was  to  die  like  a  common  felon  ;  and,  when 
the  terrible  words  were  pronounced,  he  stood  stupefied  and 
speechless.  That  was  the  bitterest  blow  of  all.  It  seemed 
to  crush  his  heart,  to  beat  down  the  energies  which  had  so 
well  sustained  him ;  and  he  was  removed  from  the  court  like 
one  in  a  dream.  At  that  moment  he  thought  less  of  himself 
than  of  another. 

"  Catharine,  Catharine,"  he  murmured  ;  and,  burymg  his 
face  in  his  hands,  he  gave  way  for  a  short  time  to  the  weight 
of  the  infliction.  His  spirit  soon  rose  again,  and  when  the 
hour  came  it  found  him  prepared. 


ISO  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PERKIN    WARBECK. 

There  were  thick  and  gloomy  clouds  over  head.  There 
was  an  obscure  and  foggy  atmosphere  below.  Not  a  breath 
of  air  stirred  in  the  sky.  The  sun  had  not  shone  upon  the 
world  all  day.  Cold,  cold  and  chilhng  was  the  damp  vapor 
that  hung  over  the  scene,  and  every  object,  to  every  sense, 
was  sad  and  gloomy. 

But  under  a  group  of  large  old  elms,  nearly  at  the  summit 
of  a  httle  rise  some  two  miles  from  London,  as  London  exist- 
ed in  that  day,  was  gathered  together  an  immense  crowd  of 
people.  These  elms  were,  as  I  have  said,  upon  the  side  of 
the  rise,  not  at  the  top,  for  the  top  was  occupied  as  a  gallows. 
They  were  not  far  distant,  however ;  for  they  stretched  out 
their  long,  naked,  brown  branches  to  within  twenty  or  thirty 
feet  of  the  instrument  of  death. 

Tyburn  elms  had  seldom  seen  a  greater  multitude  collected 
than  on  that  23d  of  November ;  and  there  were  many  differ- 
ent sensations  among  the  people.  Some  came  from  mere  cu- 
riosity, or  the  barbarous  taste  for  death  scenes  so  strong  in  the 
English  people.  Some  came,  anxious  to  hear  what  the  pris- 
oner would  say  before  his  death ;  whether  he  would  give  the 
lie  to  his  whole  hfe,  or  maintain  liis  truth  and  innocence  to 
the  last.  Some  came,  with  feelings  of  commiseration  and 
burning  indignation,  to  see  the  consummation  of  a  base  act 
they  could  not  prevent.  Some  came  to  triumph,  and  some 
to  weep. 

The  spectacle  was  long  delayed  ;  and  they  looked  anxiously 
toward  the  city,  while  a  few  thin  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall 
through  the  mist ;  and  they  hoped  the  fog  would  clear  away, 
that  they  might  have  a  better  view.  The  fog  persisted,  how- 
ever, and  even  grew  more  thick  ;  but  at  length  the  creaking 
sound  of  a  cart's  wheel  was  heard,  and  those  who  were  near- 
est to  the  road  perceived  the  head  of  the  procession  approach- 
ing, the  sherifi"  riding  on  horseback,  and  the  soldiers,  with 
their  steel  caps,  surrounding  the  vehicle. 

There  were  three  figures  in  the  cart :  a  man  in  the  robes 
of  a  priest  on  the  right  hand  ;  a  stout,  heavy-looking  man 


ENGLA^ND— I'ERKIN   WARBECK.  121 

seated  on  the  edge  to  the  left  ;  and  another  tall,  graceful  fig- 
ure between  the  two.  Througli  the  dim  and  hazy  air,  the 
eyes  of  the  multitude  could  see  him  stand,  firm,  calm,  and 
erect,  with  his  unpinioned  arms  crossed  upon  his  chest.  The 
features  of  his  face  they  could  hardly  discern  ;  but  there  was 
sometliing  in  the  air  and  the  attitude  not  to  be  mistaken. 
There  was  no  fear  or  trepidation  there. 

The  cart  moved  on  till  it  reached  the  foot  of  the  gallows  ; 
and  the  soldiers  formed  a  ring  around,  keeping  back  the  peo- 
ple, who  pressed  eagerly  forward.  By  that  time  there  was 
hardly  a  heart  among  them  that  was  not  moved  with  com- 
passion. There  was  some  little  tumult  occasioned  by  the  ef- 
Ibrts  of  several  persons  to  get  near  ;  and  those  who  were  on 
the  outside  of  the  crowd  saw  the  scene  that  was  passing  but 
faintly  through  the  mist,  the  figures  looking  like  gray  shad- 
ows rather  than  living  thmgs.  But  still  that  princely  form 
towered  above  the  rest.  The  priest  pressed  close  to  him  with 
eager  words,  holding  up  the  crucifix ;  the  hangman  busied 
himself  with  the  cord  ;  another  man  came  a  little  forward  on 
the  platform  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  began  to  read 
something  from  a  paper  in  his  hand.  No  one  heard  what  it 
was ;  but  they  all  saw  the  suflerer  make  an  impatient  and 
an  indignant  gesture,  and  some  exclamation  burst  from  the 
people  near.  Then  was  a  good  deal  of  hurry  and  confusion  ; 
and,  the  next  instant,  Richard  Plantagenet  ceased  to  be. 

Who  shall  attempt  to  tell  the  feelings  of  his  heart  during 
that  dreadful  morning  ?  who  depict  the  burning,  bitter,  pow- 
erless indignation  with  which  he,  the  son  of  a  king,  who  had 
come  but  to  claim  his  own,  was  led  forth,  with  shame  and 
contumely  undeserved,  to  die  the  death  of  a  dog  ?  Who 
shall  say  whether  his  faith  did  not  waver,  whether  his  trust 
in  God  did  not  fail,  when  he  fomid  that  cunning,  and  artifice, 
and  injustice  prevailed  against  honor,  and  integrity,  and 
right  ] 

Let  us  trust  that  it  did  not,  and  that  the  conviction 
wrought  upon  his  mind  by  his  own  sad  fate  was  the  same 
which  he  had  expressed  to  Warwick  :  "  There  must  be  a  fu- 
ture state,  where  there  is  retribution." 

The  result  was  not  what  Henry  the  king  had  expected. 
He  had  put  an  enemy  to  death.  He  had  loaded  him  with 
every  sort  of  degradation ;  but  he  failed  to  make  the  great 
mass  of  the  people  believe  that  Richard  Plantagenet  was  an 
impostor.  Courtly  historians,  under  the  Tudors  and  those 
who  derived  from  them,  corrupted  the  truths  of  history,  and 

F 


122  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

grafted  upon  Ihe  bare  facts  transmitted  to  them  by  colempo- 
raries,  interested  fabrications  of  their  own. 

But  another  act  was  still  to  be  performed,  and  some  words 
to  be  spoken,  which  completed  the  tragedy  and  explained  its 
cause.  The  helpless,  hapless  Earl  of  Warwick  was  brought 
to  his  trial  before  his  peers.  He  was  tried  for  a  treasonable 
conspiracy  against  the  person  and  government  of  the  king. 
There  was  no  danger,  in  his  case,  of  any  claims  being  assert- 
ed which  Henry  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  disprove. 
The  Earl  of  Oxford  presided  at  the  trial.  The  peers  went 
prepared  for  their  task.  Warwick  pleaded  guilty  to  having 
consented  to  his  cousin's  attempt  to  escape.  He  was  con- 
demned for  high  treason,  and  closed  a  life  of  misery^  under 
the  ax  upon  Tower  Hill.  There  was  a  roar  of  indignation 
throughout  the  land,  for  his  birth  and  his  innocence  were  un- 
doubted. Henry  strove  to  quiet  the  murmurs  of  his  people, 
by  boldly  proclaiming  the  reasons  of  state  poHcy  which  in- 
duced him  to  commit  a  deliberate,  cold-blooded  public  mur- 
der. The  King  of  Aragon  had  refused  to  give  his  daughter 
to  the  heir  apparent,  so  long  as  there  was  any  male  heir  liv- 
ing of  the  house  of  Plantagenet ;  and  it  was  necessar}^  "  va- 
cuam  domum  scelestis  nuptiis  facere." 

Thus  died,  within  five  days  of  each  other,  Richard  and 
Edward  Plantagenet.  The  heir  of  Tudor  obtained  the  daugh- 
ter of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic.  The  death  of  Arthur  con- 
signed her  to  the  arms  of  his  brother ;  and  the  marriage  of 
Catharine  with  Henry  severed  England  from  the  domination 
of  Rome.  The  male  line  of  Tudor  became  extinct  in  one 
more  generation ;  and  policy  and  crime  efiected  nothing  to 
perpetuate  the  dynasty. 


THE   LAST    DAYS    OF   THE   TEMPLARS.       123 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  fatal  battle  of  Tiberiad,  and  the  fall  of  Jerusalem  be- 
fore the  victorious  arms  of  Saladin,  terminated  the  Christian 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  founded  by  Godfrey  of  Bouillon.  True, 
the  Franks  continued  to  hold  for  some  years  various  strong 
places  in  the  Holy  Land.  True,  the  mighty  arm  of  Richard 
Coeur  de  Lion  brought  temporary  hope,  and  a  brief  prospect 
of  success  to  the  defeated  and  disheartened  Christians  of 
Syria.  True,  Henry  of  Champagne,  Almeric,  and  Isabella, 
and  others  after  their  death,  called  themselves  sovereigns  of 
Jerusalem ;  but  they  never  possessed  one  stone  of  the  Holy 
City  ;  nor  were  they  or  their  followers  permitted  to  set  a  foot 
within  its  walls,  except  by  permission  of  the  victorious  Moslem. 

Vice,  luxury,  and  idleness  had  taken  possession  of  the  de- 
scendants of  the  early  crusaders ;  and  the  sole  bulwarks  of  the 
Christian  power  were  the  two  great  orders  of  the  Temple  and 
Hospital.  Often  rivals,  often  enemies,  these  bodies  of  milita- 
ry monks  were  rarely  found  wanting  in  harmony  and  zeal  at 
the  moment  of  danger  and  distress  ;  and  the  misfortunes  which 
fell  upon  the  Christian  kingdom  after  the  return  of  Richard 
I.  to  England  united  them  in  defense  of  the  little  which  re- 
mained of  all  the  fair  possessions  which  had  been  won  from 
the  infidels. 

The  greatest,  the  most  valiant,  and  the  most  powerful  of 
the  monarchs  who  arose  after  the  death  of  Saladin  and  his 
immediate  successors,  to  oppress  the  remnant  of  the  Christians 
in  the  East,  was  the  Sultan  of  Egypt,  named  Bibars  Bondoc- 
dar  ;  and  step  by  step,  his  course,  which  was  as  often  marked 
by  private  assassination  as  by  valiant  deeds  of  war,  brought 
under  the  rule  of  the  cimeter  Cesarea  and  Arsouf,  Sifed  and 
Kora,  Schakif  and  Antioch.  The  second  crusade  of  St.  Louis 
diverted  him,  for  a  time,  from  his  career  in  Syria ;  but,  as 
soon  as  that  danger  had  passed  away,  Bondocdar  once  more 
turned  his  arms  against  the  Syrian  Christians,  and  menaced 


124  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

Ihe  county  of  Tripoli.  The  savage  conqueror  announced  his 
approach  by  a  letter  characteristic  of  the  man. 

"  Where  canst  thou  save  thyself  now  ?"  he  wrote  to  the 
count.  "  By  the  living  God,  I  know  not  what  prevents  me 
from  tearing  out  thy  heart  and  cooking  it  I" 

Submission  turned  him  from  his  purpose,  however ;  and, 
soon  after,  the  arrival  of  Prince  Edward  of  England  gave  a 
shock  to  his  power,  and  brought  one  more  gleam  of  glory  on 
the  Christian  arms.  Edward  came,  indeed,  with  a  mere 
handful  of  brave  warriors ;  but  he  showed  what  skill,  pru- 
dence, and  courage  might  still  effect.  Nazareth  was  taken  ; 
a  large  Moslem  force  was  defeated,  and  Bibars  Bondocdar 
found  that  he  had  an  adversary  to  deal  with  more  dangerous 
than  any  who  had  yet  risen  up  against  him.  He  had  re- 
course to  the  hand  of  the  assassin  ;*  but  even  then  he  was 
unsuccessful.  The  assassin  penetrated  to  the  presence  of  the 
prince  upon  the  pretense  of  bearing  him  a  letter.  When  near 
enough  to  his  victim,  he  drew  a  poniard  from  his  robe,  and 
stabbed  him  in  more  than  one  place ;  but  Edward  instantly 
seized  him  with  his  powerful  arm,  cast  him  headlong  on  the 
ground,  and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart  with  his  own  hand. 
The  dagger  of  the  assassin  was  supposed  to  be  poisoned ;  but 
the  wounds  tlie  prince  had  received  did  not  prove  mortal. 
Shortly  after,  a  treaty  of  peace  was  concluded  for  ten  years, 
ten  months,  ten  days,  and  ten  hours  between  the  Sultan  of 
Egypt  and  the  Christians  of  the  Holy  Land.  But  Edward 
himself  would  not  enter  into  conventions  with  the  infidel :  the 
treaty  ran  in  the  name  of  Hugh,  king  of  Cyprus ;  and  the 
English  prince  sailed  away  for  his  native  shores,  at  the  earnest 
prayer  of  his  father. 

An  efib|t  was  made  shortly  after  to  rouse  the  spirit  of  Eu- 
ropean nations  to  a  new  crusade.  Theobald  Visconti,  arch- 
deacon of  Liege,  had  dwelt  in  the  Holy  Land,  had  witnessed 
the  miseries  of  the  Christians,  and  had  become  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  recovery  of  Jerusalem.  He  was  still  at  Acre, 
when  he  was  raised  to  the  papal  throne ;  and  his  first  eflbrtg, 
on  his  return  to  Europe,  were  directed  to  raise  forces  for  the 
great  object  of  his  heart.     A  general  council  was  summoned 

"  Mills,  and  almost  all  the  modern  writers  on  tho  cnuades,  lay  the 
blame  oT  the  attempted  assassination  of  Edward  upon  the  Mussulman 
governor  of  Jatla.  They  were  apparently  iffnorant  of  tho  testimony  of 
tho  Arabian  historians ;  for  Ibn  Ferat  clearly  shows  that  tho  governor 
of  Ramla  and  Jaffa  was  merely  a  tool  in  the  hands  of  Bibars,  and  em- 
ployed  the  assassin  who  stabbed  Bdward  at  the  express  command  of 
tiie  sultan. 


THE   LAST    DAYS   OF   THE   TEMPLARS.        125 

to  meet  at  Lyons,  in  May,  1 274 ;  and  the  grand  masters 
of  the  Temple  and  the  Hospital  attended,  to  advocate  the 
cause  of  the  Syrian  Christians,  Monarchs  and  princes  gave 
their  aid  :  Rudolph  of  Hapsburg,  Philip  of  France,  Michael 
Palacologus,  Charles  of  Anjou  and  Sicily,  with  many  another 
noble  name,  took  part  in  the  movement ;  and  every  thing 
promised  fair,  when,  after  a  short  period  of  rule,  Gregory  X. 
was  removed  by  death  from  the  scene  of  his  exertions,  and 
the  trumpet  of  the  crusades  ceased  to  sound  in  Europe. 

Disappouitcd  and  desponding,  the  grand  master  of  the  Tem- 
ple, William  de  Beaujeu,  returned  to  Palestine.  He  took 
with  him,  it  is  true,  a  gallant  band  of  knights  of  hif^  own 
order,  sent  by  the  various  Temple  houses  in  England  and 
France  ;  but  he  found  Acre,  now  the  capital  of  the  Christian 
power  in  the  Holy  Land,  one  scene  of  confusion,  contest,  and 
vice.  In  the  council  of  Lyons,  Mary,  princess  of  Antioch, 
descended  from  the  youngest  daughter  of  Isabella,  queen  of 
Jerusalem,  had  ceded  to  Charles  of  Anjou  her  claim  to  the 
throne  of  a  kingdom  which  had  long  existed  but  in  name. 
The  claim  itself  was  visionary ;  for  Hugh  III.,  king  of  Cy- 
prus, was  lineally  descended  from  the  Princess  Alice,  an  elder 
da.ughter  of  Isabella  ;  and  it  only  served  as  a  pretext  for  dis- 
putes, of  which  there  were  already  too  many.  The  energies 
of  the  Christians  of  Syria  were  divided  and  weakened  by  con- 
tests for  a  visionary  crown  ;  and  the  period  of  peace  was  wast- 
ed either  in  indulgence  or  discussion,  instead  of  being  employed 
in  preparations  for  war. 

Nevertheless,  the  resolution  of  the  grand  master  remained, 
unshaken ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain  that  he  endeavored  to  in- 
spire the  same  spirit  into  the  breasts  of  others ;  and  all  aid, 
but  that  of  a  few  ItaUan  free  companions,  was  refused  by 
Europe  to  the  petitions  of  the  Syrian  Christians.  ^  Negotia- 
tions with  the  infidel,  and  gradual  encroachments  upon  the 
Christian  territory,  filled  up  a  considerable  space  of  time,  dur- 
ing which  a  nominal  peace  existed.  The  Sultan  Bibars 
died.  His  son  succeeded  him,  and  was  dethroned ;  and  an- 
other Mamaluke  was  raised  to  power,  who  inherited  the  cour- 
age, the  skill,  and  the  inveterate  hatred  of  the  Christian  name 
which  had  distinguished  Bondocdar. 

Malek-Mansour  Kelaoun,  the  new  sultan,  soon  displayed 
the  course  he  intended  to  pursue  ;  but  his  operations  were  im- 
peded by  an  event  which  might  have  afforded  to  the  Chris- 
tians of  Syria  a  chance  of  recovering  some  portion,  at  least, 
of  their  lost  empire,  had  they  had  force,  energy,  and  union  t^ 


126  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

take  advantage  of  the  favorable  occasion.  Alaschker,  viceroy 
of  Syria,  raised  the  standard  of  revolt  against  the  usurper  of 
the  throne  of  Egypt.  He  called  to  his  aid  Tartars,  Georgians, 
and  Armenians,  and  even  applied  for  aid  to  the  Christians ; 
but  a  general  battle,  won  in  the  neighborhood  of  Emessa,  re- 
stored the  power  of  Egypt  in  Syria,  and  Kelaoun  determined 
to  seize  the  opportunity  of  driving  the  Franks  into  the  sea. 
He  soon  found  pretexts  for  violating  treaties  which  were  en- 
cumbered with  numerous  minute  stipulations ;  and  his  own 
historians  do  not  deny  that  his  commanders  first  began  the 
war,  by  desolating  the  territories  of  the  Hospitalers  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  fortress  of  Margat.* 

The  knights  of  St.  John  took  vengeance  of  the  enemy ; 
and  the  menacing  incursions  of  the  Tartars  induced  Kalaoun 
to  agree  to  another  hollow  and  deceitful  truce.  Treaties 
were  also  entered  into  with  Templars,  and  with  the  town  of 
Acre  ;  but  ail  these  engagements  were  delusive  ;  and  on  the 
17th  of  April,  1285,  Malek-Mansour  appeared  under  the  walls 
of  Margat  with  an  overwhelming  force.  For  more  than  a 
month  the  brave  Hospitalers  resisted  the  whole  efforts  of  the 
Mussulman  army.  An  accident,  indeed,  aided  their  efibrts ;  for, 
when  a  practicable  breach  had  been  effected,  one  of  the  towers 
of  Margat  fell,  and  filled  up  the  open  space.  A  mine,  how- 
ever, having  been  carried  on  into  the  very  heart  of  the  fortress, 
the  knights  perceived  that  resistance  could  no  longer  be  effectu- 
al, and,  after  a  gallant  defense,  obtained  an  honorable  capitu- 
lation. They  retired  to  Tripoli  and  to  Tortosa  ;  and  another 
truce  succeeded,  destined  to  be  as  speedily  violated  as  any 
which  had  preceded  it.  Two  years  had  hardly  passed  be- 
fore Kelaoun  fabricated  a  cause  of  quarrel  with  the  Count  of 
Tripoli ;  and  Laodicea  was  attacked  and  taken  almost  with- 
out resistance.  Its  principal  defenses  had  been  ruined  by  an 
earthquake ;  and  the  cunning  Mamaluke  took  advantage  of 
the  moment  to  attack  the  city  before  they  could  be  repaired. 
The  Christian,  says  the  Arabian  historian,  feared  to  resist  an 
army  protected  by  earthquakes  and  the  angels  of  heaven,  and 
offered  to  capitulate.  ' 

Tripoli  was  now  in  a  state  of  anarchy.  The  count  him- 
self was  dead  ;  and  various  persons  strove  for  command  in  that 
important  city.  None  of  the  neighboring  Christian  princes, 
except  the  King  of  Cyprus,  allbrded  it  any  aid  ;  and,  notwith- 

*  Millu,  as  usual,  takes  the  part  of  the  Moslem,  and,  in  direct  oppo- 
sition to  the  Arabian  historians  themselves,  declares  that  "  the  restless 
Franks"  gave  the  first  otfeuse. 


THE    LAST   DAYS  OF   THE   TEMPLARS.        127 

standing  its  situation  and  its  magnificent  fortifications,  it  fell 
an  easy  prey  to  the  Egyptian  sultan. 

Three  men  on  horseback  could  ride  round  the  top  of  the 
walls  of  Tripoli  abreast.  The  peninsula  on  which  it  stood 
was  only  joined  to  the  land  by  a  very  narrow  isthmus ;  and 
the  Isle  of  St.  Nicholas,  separated  from  the  land  by  a  small 
arm  of  the  sea,  was  a  citadel  in  itself  But  nineteen  military 
engines  of  enormous  size  now  battered  the  walls  incessantly ; 
fifteen  hundred  engineers  were  employed  in  undermining  the 
ramparts,  or  in  throwing  Greek  fire  and  other  combustibles 
iuto  the  city  ;  and  more  than  forty  thousand  men  cut  off  the 
small  garrison  from  all  resource.  The  Knights  Templars  of 
the  preceptory  of  Tripoli  fought  with  their  accustomed  valor 
and  devotion,  and  expiated,  by  their  death  in  defense  of  the 
place,  some  treacherous  practices  against  the  count,  of  which 
they  had  been  convicted.  But  the  inhabitants  of  Tripoli 
were  a  manufacturing,  self-indulgent  people,  ill-fitted  to  com- 
bat with  the  warlike  Moslem.  At  the  end  of  thirty-four  days, 
the  cavalry  of  Kelaoun  passed  over  the  breach  encumbered 
with  dead  bodies  of  Hospitalers  and  Templars  ;  and  the  town 
was  given  up  to  fire  and  pillage.  Abul  Feda,  the  historian 
prince,  was  present  at  the  fall  of  Tripoli,  and  tells  the  horrors 
which  he  himself  witnessed. 

Acre,  the  last  and  strongest  of  the  Christian  cities,  might 
well  now  tremble ;  but  the  menacing  aspect  of  the  Tartars  de- 
terred Kelaoun,  for  some  time,  from  executing  his  meditated 
attack  upon  the  remnant  of  the  Christians. 

Both  Mamalukes  and  Tartars  treated,  in  the  mean  time, 
with  the  European  sovereigns ;  and  many  a  curious  page  of 
history  is  occupied  with  an  account  of  these  negotiations  be- 
tween the  East  and  the  West.  The  Tartars  sought  to  in- 
duce the  Christian  princes  to  engage,  with  their  alHance,  in 
a  new  crusade  ;  the  Egj^ptians  to  deter  them  from  interfering 
in  the  affairs  of  SjTia.  But  the  crusading  spirit  was  now  but 
a  spark  in  the  ashes,  and  Europe  held  out  no  hand  of  help  to 
Christian  Palestine. 

Several  other  small  towns  fell  after  the  destruction  of  Tripo- 
li ;  and  then  Malek-Mansour  made  vast  preparations  to  attack 
the  town  of  Acre.  A  pretext  was  speedily  found  in  an  act  of 
wild  justice  perpetrated  by  a  Christian  upon  a  Mussulman  who 
had  seduced  his  wife  ;  and  the  greatest  armament  was  collect- 
ed for  the  attack  of  Acre  which  had  ever  been  seen  in  Egypt. 

The  state  of  Acre  itself  seemed  to  invite  a  conqueror.  It 
is  thus  described  by  Fuller  in  his  Holy  War  : 


128  DARK    SCExNES    OF    HISTORY. 

•*  la  it  were  some  of  all  countries  ;  so  that  he  who  had  lost 
his  nation  might  find  it  here.  Most  of  them  had  several 
courts  to  decide  their  causes  in,  and  the  plenty  of  judges 
caused  the  scarcity  of  justice,  malefactors  appeaUng  to  a  trial 
in  the  courts  of  their  own  country.  It  was  sufficient  inno- 
cence for  any  offender  in  the  Venetian  court  that  he  was  a 
Venetian.  Personal  acts  were  entitled  national;  and  made 
the  cause  of  the  country.  Outrages  were  every  where  prac- 
ticed, nowhere  punished ;  as  if  to  spare  Divine  revenge  the 
pains  of  overtaking  them,  they  would  go  forth  and  meet  it. 
At  the  same  time,  they  were  in  fitters  about  prosecuting  their 
titles  to  this  city,  no  fewer  than  the  Venetians,  Genoese,  Pi- 
sans,  Florentines,  the  kings  of  Cyprus  and  Sicily,  the  agents 
for  the  kings  of  France  and  England,  the  princes  of  Tripoli 
and  Antioch,  the  patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  the  masters  of  the 
Templars  and  Hospitalers,  and  (whom  I  should  have  named 
first)  the  legate  of  his  holiness,  all  at  once,  with  much  vio- 
lence, contending  about  the  right  of  nothing,  the  title  to  the 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  and  command  of  this  city,  like  bees, 
making  the  greatest  humming  and  buzzing  in  the  hive  when 
now  ready  to  leave  it." 

The  city  was  divided  into  many  quarters,  and  these  quar- 
ters were  apportioned  each  to  one  of  the  different  nations 
which  it  contained.  The  Mohammedans  from  the  neighbor- 
hood came  and  went,  and  some,  it  would  appear,  even  pos- 
sessed houses  within  the  walls.  Frequent  feuds  and  sanguin- 
ary encounters  took  place  among  the  inhabitants,  and  vice 
and  debaucher}'  of  every  kind  were  frightfully  prevalent  among 
all  classes.  The  riches  of  the  city  were  immense ;  the  arts 
were  cultivated  ;  luxury  was  at  its  height ;  private  houses,  as 
well  as  the  numerous  churches,  were  decorated  with  pictures 
and  statues,  and  windows  of  glass.  We  read  of  nothing  but 
marble  fountains,  silken  canopies,  gold,  and  embroidery.  The 
markets  were  supplied  "w-ith  the  produce  of  all  countries,  and 
scribes  and  interpreters  were  found  to  write  and  translate 
every  language  of  the  e^,rth. 

The  walls  of  Acre,  repaired  by  Richard,  had  been  strength- 
ened at  various  times  since  his  death,  and  consisted  of  a  double 
rampart,  with  immense  towers  at  intervals  of  a  stone's  throw. 
Within  the  walls  were  lour  fortified  buildings,  which  might 
be  considered  as  citadels,  though  the  real  citadel  or  castle  was 
called  the  King's  Tower.  The  other  three  consisted  of  the 
house  or  convent  of  the  Knights  Templars,  the  strongest  and 
most  important  of  all,  capable  of  containing  several  thousand 


THE   LAST   DAYS   OF   THE  TEMPLARS.       129 

men,  and  furnished  with  imnnense  and  well-constructed  de- 
fenses, the  convent  of  the  Hospitalers,  and  that  of  the  Teu- 
tonic Knights.  The  sea  washed  the  walls  of  the  city  on  one 
side ;  and  an  artificial  port,  with  fortifications  for  its  protection, 
completed  the  defenses  of  the  place.  Toward  the  sea,  how- 
ever, the  wall  was  single  ;*  but  on  the  land  side  no  means 
had  been  left  unemployed  to  strengthen  the  fortifications  ;  and 
a  deep  ditch  surrounded  the  whole  of  the  city. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Ptolemais,  when  Kelaoun  gathered 
together  his  immense  host  for  the  attack  of  the  city,  and  pre- 
pared the  mihtary  engines  which  were  to  destroy  its  fortifica- 
tions. The  work  of  conquest,  however,  was  reserved  for  an- 
other hand.  Kelaoun  was  seized  by  illness  ere  he  could  set 
out  on  his  expedition,  and  died  at  Cairo  in  the  beginning  of 
1291.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Malek-Aschraf  Khalil, 
who  hesitated  not  a  moment  to  take  upon  himself  the  unac- 
complished enterprise  of  his  father.  The  troops  were  imme- 
diately put  in  motion.  A  wild  enthusiasm  for  the  destruction 
of  the  Christians  seized  upon  all  the  Mussulman  states ;  the 
volunteers  were  more  numerous  than  the  regular  soldiers; 
enormous  military  engines  were  constructed,  one  of  which  re- 
quired a  hundred  wagons  to  carry  it ;  and  two  hundred  thou- 
sand men,  horse  and  foot,  encamped  under  the  walls  of  Acre 
in  the  beginning  of  April,  1291. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  city  were  immensely  numerous. 
The  port  was  filled  with  merchant  shipping,  besides  the  gal- 
leys of  the  Hospital  and  the  T«mple.  The  Island  of  Cyprus 
offered  a  near  and  secure  place  of  refuge ;  but  yet,  strange  to 
say,  comparatively  few,  even  of  the  women,  the  children,  or 
the  aged  and  incapable,  relieved  the  doomed  city  of  their  pres- 
ence. About  twelve  thousand  fighting  men,  besides  the  sol- 
diers of  the  Temple  and  the  Hospital,  formed  the  garrison  of 
Acre  ;  but  they  had  a  worse  enemy  within  the  walls  than  even 
the  foe  who  assailed  them  from  without.  Dissension  was  rife 
among  the  people.  A  scanty  band  of  troops,  which  had  been 
sent  by  the  pope,  gave  themselves  up  to  drunkenness  and  de- 
bauchery. The  Genoese,  the  Pisans,  and  the  Venetians, 
were  in  open  contest  in  the  port  and  in  the  streets,  and  refused 
to  obey  the  commanders,  who  had  been  chosen  from  the  mil- 
itary orders.  Confusion,  strife,  crime,  disarray,  pervaded  the 
city  from  end  to  end  when  the  standard  of  the  crescent  ap- 
peared before  the  gates. 

*  Herman  Cora^. 
F2 


130  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

The  whole  weight  of  the  defense  fell  upon  the  military  or- 
ders ;  and  it  would  appear  that  the  principal  command  was 
intrusted  to  William  de  Beaujeu,  grand  master  of  the  Temple, 
whose  age,  experience,  and  skill  well  justified  the  choice.  Fori 
six  weeks  the  siege  continued.  Night  and  day  the  contest! 
lasted.  The  miners  attacked  the  walls  and  towers  ;  the  en- 
gines hurled  immense  masses  of  stone  and  pots  of  fire  into  the 
town  ;  houses  and  palaces  were  crushed  and  burned  ;  multi- 
tudes were  killed  in  the  streets ;  sallies  innumerable  took 
place  ;  but  the  progress  of  the  enemy,  though  from  time  to 
time  retarded,  was  great ;  and  at  length,  one  of  the  principal 
defenses,  called  the  Cursed  Tower,  fell  with  a  tremendous 
noise. 

Early  in  the  siege,  the  King  of  C}T)rus  arrived  to  the  aid 
of  the  inhabitants,  with  a  small  force  of  horse  and  foot ;  and 
for  some  time  he  continued  the  fight  gallantly  by  the  side  of 
his  fellow- Christians.  His  post  was  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  Cursed  Tower  ;  but  when  that  important  defense  was  de- 
stroyed, he  retreated  to  his  ships,  followed  not  only  by  his  own 
men,  but  by  a  considerable  portion  of  the  garrison,  and  made 
sail  for  Cyprus.  Greatly  has  he  been  blamed  for  this  defec- 
tion ;  and  some  blame  he  certainly  deserved ;  but  those  who 
have  censured  him  most  severely  forgot  to  mention  the  awful 
disorders  that  reigned  in  the  city,  and  which  might  preclude 
all  hope  of  successful  resistance  to  the  enemy.* 

A  considerable  number  of  the  inhabitants  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  the  King  of  Cyprus,  and  seemed  to  give  up  the  city 
for  lost.  Still,  however,  William  de  Beaujeu  and  the  grand 
master  of  the  Hospital  conducted  the  defense  with  uncon- 
querable courage,  and  for  ten  days  after  the  fall  of  the  Cursed 
Tower,  maintained  the  city  against  the  whole  force  of  the ' 
Moslem.  It  would  seem  that,  on  one  occasion,  the  town  was 
actually  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy;  but  a  charge  of  the 
Templars  and  Red  Cross  Knights  drove  the  Mamalukes  back 
through  the  breach  by  which  they  had  entered. 

At  length,  however,  the  fatal  day  of  the  fall  of  Acre  came  ; ' 
and  on  Friday,  the  18th  of  May,  some  time  before  daybreak, 
the  whole  of  the  infidel  troops  were  drawn  up  ready  for  the 

•  In  an  account  of  the  siege  of  Acre,  said  to  have  been  given  by  a 
monk  of  the  order  of  St.  Basu  to  the  pope,  the  conduct  of  the  King  of 
Cyprus  is  highly  lauded,  while  great  blame  is  cast  upon  many  ol  the 
Hospitalers  and  Templars,  who  are  said  to  have  shown  great  insub- 
ordination, and,  scorning  the  commands  of  their  superiors,  to  have  re- 
fused to  take  part  in  the  dangers  and  labors  of  the  siege. 


THE   LAST   DAYS   OF   THE    TEMPLARS.        131 

attack.    Three  hundred  drummers,  mounted  on  camels,  8ound-\ 
ed  the  charge ;  and  the  storming  party  rushed  on  toward  a  • 
practicable  breach  in  the  wall,  near  the  Cathedral  of  St.  An- 
thony.    The  first  body  consisted  of  fanatics,  called  Chages, 
perfectly  naked,  who  advanced  sword  in  hand,  as  if  for  bat- 
tle :  but  their  devotion  now  had  another  object.     Casting 
themselves  into  the  ditch  in  crowds,  and  lying  prostrate  among 
the  ruined  walls,  they  filled  up  with  their  living  bodies  th^' 
whole  of  the  deep  fosse,  making  a  bridge  for  the  Mamaluke 
cavalry  to  pass  over.     With  loud  shouts  and  the  clang  of 
drums,  the  Moslem  poured  in,  and  step  by  step  won  their  way 
to  the  heart  of  the  city. 

The  defense  was  fierce  and  resolute  ;  for,  though  the  Arabs 
say  the  Christians  soon  fled,  yet  they  allow  themselves  that 
the  Mohammedans  did  not  effect  an  entrance  for  several 
hours.  Nothing,  during  this  dreadful  day,  was  wanting  on- 
the  part  of  the  grand  masters  of  the  Temple  and  the  Hospi- 
tal. For  some  time  they  fought  side  by  side  in  the  streets, 
their  knights  forming  a  living  barrier,  with  their  mailed  bodies, 
against  the  torrent  of  infidel  war.  Hundreds  and  hundreds 
fell ;  and,-  as  a  last  resource,  it  w^as  agreed  that  while  William 
de  Beaujeu  maintained  the  struggle  in  the  streets,  the  grand 
master  of  the  Hospital,  with  five  hundred  knights,  should  is- 
sue forth  by  a  postern,  and  attack  the  enemy  in  flank.  About 
this  time  fell  Matthew  de  Clermont,  marshal  of  St.  John  ; 
and  hardly  had  the  grand  master  of  the  Hospital  departed, 
when  William  de  Beaujeu  himself  was  slain  by  an  arrow. 
The  rest  of  the  knights  of  the  Temple  who  were  left  ahve, 
retreated,  fighting  step  by  step,  till  they  reached  their  forti- 
fied convent ;  and  the  Hospitalers  who  issued  forth  to  attack 
the  enemy's  rear  were  all  killed,  with  the  exception  of  seven, 
who  with  difficulty  made  their  way  to  the  ships,  after  hear- 
ing that  the  place  was  actually  taken. 

Terrible  was  the  scene  which  the  devoted  city  now  pre- 
sented. The  miserable  inhabitants  in  thousands  fled  to  the 
port,  hoping  to  gain  the  ships  and  find  refuge  on  another 
shore  ;  but,  as  if  to  add  to  the  horrors  of  that  day,  an  awful 
tempest  swept  along  the  Syrian  coast.  Thunder  and  light- 
ning, wind  and  rain,  warred  against  the  unhappy  Christians 
of  Palestine  ;  and,  in  the  words  of  the  ancient  Britons,  the 
barbarians  drove  them  into  the  sea ;  and  the  sea  cast  them 
back  upon  the  barbarians.  But  a  small  portion  escaped  in 
the  boats  and  ships ;  multitudes  were  drowned  in  the  attempt ; 
as  many  were  slaughtered  on  the  shore.     More  than  ten 


132        DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

I  thousand  madly  hoped  to  find  pity  in  a  heart  more  inexorable 
I  than  the  storm,  and  «ast  themselves  at  the  feet  of  Khalil 
spraying  for  life.  The  sultan  distributed  them  among  his 
emirs ;  and  each  emir  slaughtered  his  share.  Not  one  was 
left.  The  women,  the  children,  the  old  men,  fled  to  the 
churches,  embraced  the  altars,  called  upon  the  saints  for  help.^ 
But  there  was  no  aid,  no  mercy,  no  sanctuary.  The  cimeter 
and  the  torch  pursued  them  wherever  they  turned.  Palaces, 
markets,  temples,  were  fired  without  remorse  ;  and  thousands 
of  shrieking  women  and  young  children  perished  with  the  ob- 
jects of  their  superstitious  worship.  For  two  days,  says  an 
eye-witness,  the  order  of  the  barbarous  conqueror  was  execu- 
ted, to  put  every  one,  without  distinction  of  age  or  sex,  to  the 
sword.  The  third  day  an  order  was  given  to  bum  the  corpses  ; 
and  some  mitigation  of  the  Moslem  fury  took  place.  The 
women  and  the  children  were  spared  to  a  life  of  slavery ;  but 
all  the  men  capable  of  bearing  arms  were  slaughtered.  Riv- 
ulets of  Christian  blood  flowed  amid  the  burning  streets  of 
Acre. 

Iji  the  mean  time,  one  building,  detached  from  all  the  rest, 
and  a  fortress  in  itself,  resisted  the  efforts  of  the  infidel  forces. 
T  ire  Temple  House  of  Acrc  covered  a  large  space  of  ground, 
and  was  surrounded  by  walls  and  towers  almost  as  strong  as 
those  of  the  city.  It  is,  perhaps,  not  very  possible  to  describe 
it  accurately  at  present ;  but  we  know  that,  within  the  walls, 
it  contained  a  palace,  a  church,  a  market-place,  and  a  mon- 
astery. There,  as  I  have  before  shown,  the  surviving  knights 
of  the  Temple,  somewhat  more  than  three  hundred  in  num- 
ber, with  the  serving  brethren  and  a  considerable  body  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Acre,  among  whom  were  many  women  and 
children  of  high  rank,  found  refuge  when  the  city  itself  fell. 
In  all,  it  would  appear  from  the  account  of  Aboul  Mohas- 
sen,  the  Temple  House  gave  shelter  to  four  thousand  men. 
The  knights,  as  soon  as  the  gates  were  closed  and  the  place 
in  a  position  of  defense,  held  a  chapter  of  the  order,  and  elect- 
ed a  grand  master  of  the  name  of  Gaudini,  to  supply  the 
place  of  their  deceased  leader,  William  de  Beaujeu.  They 
then  prepared  to  make  the  most  strenuous  resistance. 

Their  only  hope  must  have  been  to  obtain  honorable  terms 
of  surrender  ;  and  it  matters  not  much  by  whom  the  proposal 
of  a  capitulation  was  first  made.  The  Christians  and  the 
Mohammedans  differ.  Certain  it  is,  however,  the  sultan 
agreed  to  grant,  and  the  Tetnplars  to  accept,  terms  highly 
honorable  to  themselves.     The  lives  of  all  persons  at  that 


THE  LAST   DAYS  OF   THE  TEMPLARS.        133 

moment  within  the  walls  of  the  Temple  were  to  be  spared. 
Shipping  was  to  be  placed  at  their  disposal  to  carry  them  to 
some  other  land  :  and  they  were  to  be  allowed  to  retire  in 
peace  whithersoever  they  pleased,  with  the  fugitives  who  were 
under  their  protection,  and  so  much  of  their  more  precious 
goods  as  each  man  could  carry.  As  a  pledge  of  good  faith, 
the  sultan  sent  the  Templars  a  standard,  and  a  guard  of 
three  hundred  Mussulman  soldiers  to  insure  the  due  execution 
of  the  treaty.  The  standard  was  placed  on  one  of  the  towers 
of  the  Temple,  and  the  Mussulman  guard  was  admitted ; 
but  ^  shamel'ul  violation  of  the  terms  very  speedily  took  place. 
The  women  had  hidden  themselves  in  the  church  of  the  Tem- 
ple ;  but  they  did  not  escape  the  eyes  or  the  violence  of  the 
Moslem.  Attracted  by  their  beauty,  the  guards,  sent  for 
their  protection,  foi^ot  the  terms  of  the  treaty,  burst  into  the 
church,  and  polluted  the  sacred  edifice  by  infamous  violence. 
The  Templars  closed  their  gates,  and  slaughtered  the  crimin- 
als to  a  man. 

Immediately  an  attack  from  without  began  upon  the  Tem- 
ple House  ;  but  the  knights  made  a  gallant  defense  during  the 
whole  of  Saturday,  the  19th  of  May.  On  the  20th,  a  depu- 
tation was  sent  to  explain  to  the  sultan  the  offense  offered  by 
his  Mamalukes,  and  the  cause  of  their  massacre.  The  Franks 
and  the  Arabs  differ  much  as  to  what  followed ;  but  both  ac- 
counts are  equally  unfavorable  to  the  honor  and  justice  of 
Khalil.  The  Christians  declare  that  he  at  once  put  the  dep- 
uties to  death,  and  that  Gaudini,  finding  the  place  could  not 
be  maintained,  selected  a  certain  number  of  the  knights,  gath- 
ered together  the  treasures  of  the  order,  and  all  the  holy  relics 
it  possessed,  and  escaping  to  the  port  by  a  secret  postern,  got 
possession  of  a  galley,  and  reached  Cyprus  in  safety.  The 
Templars  who  remained  defended  the  great  tower,  called  the 
Master's  Tower,  with  valor  and  success,  till  the  walls  were- 
undermined  and  the  building  fell,  crushing  to  death  all  whom 
it  contained. 

Such  is  the  Christian  account ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  Gaudini,  with  a  small  body  of  the  brethren,  escaped  by 
sea. 

The  story,  as  told  by  the  Arabs,  is  different  and  more  char- 
acteristic of  Kahlil.  After  giving  an  account  of  the  offense 
and  massacre  of  the  Mamaluke  guard,  Aboul  Mohassen  goes 
on  to  say  that  the  standard  of  the  sultan  was  thrown  down, 
the  strife  recommenced,  and  the  Temple  House  was  besieged 
in  form.    The  combat  lasted  all  the  Saturday.     On  the  Sun- 


134  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

day,  the  Templars  having  again  demanded  to  capitulate,  the 
sultan  promised  them  their  lives,  and  Hberty  to  retire  whither- 
soever they  would.  Thereupon  they  came  down  (this  must 
mean  with  all  the  fugitives),  and  were  put  to  death,  to  the 
number  of  more  than  two  thousand.  An  equal  number  were 
made  prisoners ;  and  the  women  and  children  who  were  with 
them  were  conducted  to  the  tent  of  the  sultan.  Some  Tem- 
plars, however,  resisted  still,  and,  having  learned  the  treat- 
ment of  their  brethren,  resolved  to  die  with  arms  in  their 
hands,  and  would  hear  no  more  of  capitulation.  Such  was 
their  rage  that,  having  got  possession  of  five  Mussulmans,  they 
cast  them  headlong  from  the  top  of  the  tower.  The  tower, 
however,  was  at  length  completely  mined ;  and  once  more  a 
promise  of  life  was  made  to  the  Christians,  if  they  would  sur- 
render. A  body  of  Mussulmans  approached  to  take  possession  ; 
but  at  that  moment  the  tower  fell,  and  Christians  and  Mo- 
hammedans were  crushed  together  under  the  ruins.  Such  is 
the  Arabian  account. 

Thus  fell  the  Temple  House  at  Acre.    The  town  was  fired^ 
in  four  places ;   the  walls  were  razed  to  the  ground ;    the 
churches  and  the  houses  which  escaped  the  flames  were  cast 
down  ;  and  nothing  remained  of  Acre  but  a  pile  of  stones. 

The  Order  of  the  Temple,  however,  still  subsisted.  Numer- 
ous preceptories  were  to  be  found  in  various  Christian  coun- 
tries ;  Limisso,  or  Limesol,  in  Cyprus,  became  the  chief  estab- 
lishment of  the  order  ;  and  a  powerful  fleet,  great  wealth,  and 
considerable  bodies  of  troops  rendered  it  an  object  of  terror  to 
the  infidel  and  of  jealousy  to  many  Christian  princes.  Gau- 
dini  did  not  long  survive  the  expulsion  of  the  Christians  from 
the  Holy  Land.  He  died  in  Cyprus  during  the  year  1295  ; 
and  James  de  Molay,  of  an  illustrious  family  of  Burgundy, 
then  grand  preceptor  in  England,  was  elected  grand  master 
.  of  the  order.  His  predecessors  had  fought  and  died  in  arms 
against  the  infidel ;  but  the  last  grand  master,  James  de  Mo- 
lay, was  destined  to  fall  before  the  evil  passions  of  his  fellow- 
Christians. 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF   THE    TEMPLARS.      136 
CHAPTER  III. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

Strange  that  the  first  grand  triumph  of  the  Order  of  the 

Temple,  after  more  than  a  century  of  disaster,  should  take 
place  at  the  period  of  its  greatest  depression,  on  the  very  eve 
of  its  utter  extinction  ! 

Why  are  there  such  rejoicings  in  Jerusalem  ?  How  is  it 
that  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher  shines  again  as  in  the 
days  of  Christian  rule  ?  Who  arc  these  men  with  white  gar- 
ments and  the  red  cross  emhroidered  on  the  heart,  who  tread 
Moriah  as  conquerors  ?  Who  are  these  who  celebrate  on 
Mount  Sion,  with  holy  songs  and  rejoicings,  the  return  of 
Easter  ? 

The  Templars  are  again  in  Jerusalem.  The  Christians 
stand  as  victors  in  the  Holy  City.  Now,  ye  nations  of  Eu- 
rope ;  now,  ye  descendants  of  those  who  shed  their  blood  to  re- 
cover from  the  infidel  the  scene  of  our  Lord's  earthly  pilgrim- 
age, now  is  the  time  to  give  aid  to  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross, 
and  Palestine  is  yours  forever  1 

How  did  this  marvelous  change  come  about  ?  and  how  is 
it  that  the  followers  of  Mohammed  haTO  been  driven  back  ? 

Strange  is  the  destiny  of  every  nation  ;  but  it  would  seem 
that  the  changes  and  revolutions  of  Eastern  countries  are  far 
more  rapid  than  those  of  the  West.  Histories  are  enacted  in 
a  few  years  ;  and  dynasties  shoot  up  and  perish  with  a  rapid- 
ity unknown  in  other  climates.  Twelve  years  since,  Kelaoun 
marched  from  conquest  to  conquest.  Eight  years  since,  the 
last  of  their  possessions  in  Syria  was  wrested  from  the  hand» 
of  the  Christians  ;  and  yet  now  the  Templars  stand  triumph- 
ant in  the  midst  of  Jerusalem,  and  give  glory  to  God  on 
Mount  Sion.  But  a  new  race  has  descended  from  the  mount- 
ains, to  drive  back  the  flood  of  Egyptian  conquest.  A  new 
people  has  appeared  in  the  great  arena  of  Eastern  warfare ; 
and  for  a  moment — for  a  brief  moment,  indeed — ^the  religious 
fate  of  Asia  hangs  in  the  balance.  Shall  that  whole  vast 
continent  become  Christian  ?  Shall  the  followers  of  the  false 
prophet  of  Mecca  be  expelled  by  the  sword  of  as  fierce,  as  act- 
ive, as  unsparing  a  tribe  as  themselves  ?  There  is  a  chance 
of  such  a  result. 


106  DARK   SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

Where  are  the  preachers  of  Christendom  now  ?  Where 
are  the  bishops,  the  missionaries,  the  zealous  servants  of  the 
Lord  ?  They  slumber.  The  tongue  of  St.  Bernard  is  silent 
in  the  grave.  The  voice  of  Fulke  is  heard  no  more.  Popes, 
and  kings,  and  priests  are  busy  with  selfish  cares  and  mun- 
dane interests.  There  is  little  laith,  less  zeal,  no  enthusiasm  ; 
and  the  hour  goes  by. 

Somewhat  less  than  a  hundred  years  before  the  time  of 
which  I  speak,  the  famous  Zingis-Khan  went  forth  from  the 
highlands  of  Asia  to  conquer  the  nations  of  the  plain.  China 
felt  the  edge  of  his  sword  ;  and  with  seven  hundred  thousand 
men,  Moguls  and  Tartars,  he  descended  from  his  hills,  and 
swept  the  whole  country  from  the  Persian  Gulf  to  the  Caspi- 
an. The  banks  of  the  Indus  owned  his  sway  ;  and  the  Eu- 
phrates saw  him  pass  by  like  a  tempest.  His  sons  and  grand- 
sons rivaled  the  glory  of  their  ancestor ;  and  it  was  reserved 
for  Houlagou-Khan,  one  of  his  many  grandchildren,  to  extin- 
guish the  califate  of  Bagdad,  by  the  death  of  Mostasem,*  the 
last  of  the  Abbassides.  Asia  Minor  had  been  invaded.  Aleppo 
and  Damascus  were  pillaged ;  and  though  the  Egyptian  Mam- 
alukes,  under  the  Sultan  Kotouz,  toward  the  year  1250,  drove 
back  the  stream  of  Mogul  conquest  across  the  Euphrates, 
Bagdad,  Iran,  and  the  whole  of  Persia  remained  in  the  power 
of  the  shepherd  warriors. 

Simple  idolaters  themselves,  the  Tartars,  or  Moguls,  if  it 
be  necessary  to  make  a  difference,  showed  themselves  far  more 
disposed  to  embrace  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  than  to  re- 
ceive the  tenets  of  Mohammed.  They  entered  into  close  and 
almost  constant  alliance  with  the  Christian  kings  of  Armenia, 
and  treated  them  more  as  friends  than  as  conquered  tributa- 
ries. Constantly  menacing  the  Syrian  territories  of  the  Sul- 
tans of  Egyfrt,  they  retarded,  though  they  did  not  prevent,  the^ 
subjugatibn  of  the  Christians  of  Palestine  ;  and  it  was  under 
one  of  the  greatest  of  their  monarchs  that  the  Templars  once 
more  entered  into  the  city  of  Jerusalem. 

*  Mostasem  was  put  to  death,  in  what  way  we  are  not  very  sure. 
It  is  said  that,  when  the  unfortunate  calif  was  brought  before  his  con- 
queror, the  latter  ordered  hira  to  be  shut  up  in  a  room  filled  with  gold 
and  silver,  observing  that  ordinaiy  food  was  not  fitted  for  such  a  priuce, 
and  that  silver,  ^old,  and  precious  stones,  of  which  he  was  so  fond, 
ought  to  be  sufficient  for  his  nourishment.  Others  declare  that  he  was 
forced  to  swallow  molted  gold;  and  others,  that  his  head  was  cut  off. 
The  latter  is  the  most  probable  account,  although  there  can  bo  no  doubt 
that  the  Mogul  barbarians  entertained  a  great  contempt  for  the  lovers 
of  gold  and  silver. 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    THE    TEMPLARS.      137 

Leon,  king  of  Armenia,  had  a  daughter  of  the  most  exquis- 
ite beauty  and  of  the  highest  virtue  and  accomplishments. 
The  great  monarch  of  Persia,  Cazan-Khan,  the  friend  and 
ally  of  the  Armenian  sovereign,  demanded  her  in  marriage. 
The  princess  was  a  Christian,  the  Persian  emperor  an  idola- 
ter ;  and  polygamy  was  not  forbidden,  either  by  religion  or 
custom,  to  a  Mogul  prince.  From  five  to  seven  hundred  wives 
and  concubines  was  a  moderate  establishment  with  the  de- 
scendants of  Zingis  ;  and  the  princess  might  fear,  in  the  mul- 
titude of  her  rivals,  to  possess  but  a  small  portion  of  influence 
with  her  imperial  lover.  Nevertheless,  she  became  his  wife, 
and  not  only  won  his  almost  undivided  affection,  but  obtained 
great  authority  in  his  counsels,  and  by  her  moderation  and 
wisdom,  as  well  as  by  her  extreme  beauty,  maintained  the 
influence  she  had  justly  acquired.  The  free  exercise  of  her 
own  rehgion  was  permitted  to  her;  a  Christian  temple  was 
erected  for  her  worship  ;  and  she  drew  closer  and  closer  the 
bonds  of  alliance  between  her  husband  and  her  fellow-Chris- 
tians. Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  Bagdad  when  Cazan- 
Khan,  seeing  the  immense  progress  of  the  Moslem  in  Syria, 
and  judging  that  a  struggle  must  come  between  himself  and 
the  Sultan  of  Egypt,  determined  to  strike  the  first  blow,  and 
to  pass  the  Euphrates  with  an  overwhelming  force. 

The  fate  of  the  Templars  had  in  the  mean  time  been  hard. 
The  first  reception  by  the  King  of  Cyprus  of  the  little  band 
expelled  from  Syria  had  been  kind  and  hospitable ;  but  the 
numbers,  both  of  the  red-cross  knights  and  the  Knights  of  St. 
John,  which  now  flocked  to  the  island,  alarmed  the  monarch  ; 
and,  before  Gaudini's  death,  a  system  of  petty  annoyance  and 
exaction  had  begun,  which  the  Templars  resisted  in  vain. 
Three  great  preceptories  of  the  order,  at  Limesol,  Nicotia,  and 
Gastira,  with  several  smaller  buildings,  already  belonged  to 
the  Knights  of  the  Temple  ;  but  the  King  of  Cyprus  forbade 
any  further  establishments,  and  endeavored  to  impose  a  capi- 
tation tax  upon  the  order,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Cyprus.  The  soldiers  of  the  Temple  pleaded 
exemption  under  many  decrees  from  Rome  ;  but  the  descend- 
ant of  Guy  of  Lusignan  seemed  to  have  little  reverence  for 
the  papal  mandates  ;  and  the  disputes  between  the  king  and 
the  order  were  running  high,  almost  to  open  war,  when  the 
brief  and  inglorious  career  of  Gaudini  terminated. 

James  de  Molay  was  a  man  of  a  very  different  character, 
firm  but  moderate,  full  of  religious  zeal  without  fanaticism, 
devout,  strict,  and  disinterested.     He  was  in  England  as  grand 


138  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

preceptor  vhen  his  elevation  to  the  head  of  the  order  was  an- 
nounced to  him ;  and,  after  framing  various  wise  regulations 
for  the  government  of  the  knights  in  this  country,  he  crossed 
the  sea  to  France,  acted  as  godfather  to  the  son  of  Philip  the 
Fair,  and  then  hastened  to  join  his  brethren  in  Cyprus.  He 
found  the  dissension  between  the  knights  and  the  sovereign  of 
the  island  at  its  height ;  and  the  rash  efforts  of  Boniface  VIII. 
in  favor  of  the  Templars  only  rendered  the  dispute  more  vio- 
lent. An  opportunity  soon  presented  itself,  however,  of  quit- 
ting the  island  with  dignity  and  propriety ;  and  James  de 
Molay  seized  it  at  once. 

The  preparations  of  Cazan-Kahn  for  the  greatest  enterprise 
of  his  whole  reign  were  now  complete.  He  had  resolved  to 
drive  the  Mamalukes  from  Syria.  He  demanded  the  co-op- 
eration of  Georgia  and  Armenia.  He  negotiated  even  with 
the  pope,  and  with  the  Christian  princes  of  Europe  ;  and  he 
agreed  that  Palestine,  if  recovered  from  the  Sultan  of  Egypt, 
should  remain  in  possession  of  the  Christians.  Georgia  and 
Armenia  readily  answered  to  his  call ;  but  the  only  European 
Christians  who  joined  him  were  the  knights  of  the  military 
orders.  James  de  Molay  did  not  hesitate  ;  but,  gathering  to- 
gether as  large  a  force  of  the  Templars  as  could  be  spared 
from  the  preceptories,  he  set  sail  early  in  the  year  1299,  once 
more  to  plant  the  standard  of  the  cross  on  the  shores  of  Syria. 

A  large  Tartar,  Mogul,  and  Armenian  force  had  already 
entered  the  territories  over  which  the  sultan  claimed  domin- 
ion, and  had  encamped  among  the  ruins  of  Antioch.  The 
distance  from  Cyprus  was  but  small ;  and  the  galleys  of  the 
Temple  reached  Suadeah  in  safety.  There,  for  the  first  time 
after  many  years,  close  by  the  ancient  Selusia,  with  its  sepul- 
chral rocks,  and  under  the  towering  heights  of  Mount  Casius, 
with  the  mouth  of  the  Orontes  near  at  hand,  and  within  a 
short  march  of  that  city  whence  Paul  and  Barnabas  were  sent 
forth  to  preach  the  Gospel  among  the  isles  of  the  Gentiles, 
the  great  standard  of  the  cross  was  raised  once  more  by  the 
soldiers  of  the  Temple.  Under  the  shadow  of  the  Beauseant 
they  marched  on  at  once  to  join  the  forces  of  Cazan-Khan  ; 
and  a  division,  consisting  of  thirty  thousand  men,  having  been 
placed  under  the  command  of  James  de  Molay,  the  combined 
forces  of  Moguls,  Armenians,  and  Franks  commenced  their 
march  toward  Damascus. 

The  rulers  of  Egypt,  however,  were  not  inactive.  Levies 
were  instantly  made,  and  led  rapidly  into  Palestine.  Damas- 
cus added  her  muhitudes ;  and  at  Hems,  on  the  high  road 


rHE    LAST    DAYS    OF   THE    TEMPLARS.       139 

between  Aleppo  and  Damascus,  the  two  armies  met  and  en- 
gaged. It  seemed  as  if  on  that  action  depended  the  fate  of 
Asia,  and  perhaps  the  ascendency  of  the  Christian  or  Moham- 
medan faith  in  the  East,  and  the  troops  on  either  side  fought 
with  desperate  valor.  But  the  forces  of  Islam  were  totally 
defeated  ;  and  the  victorious  Moguls,  with  their  Frankish  al- 
lies, pursued  and  slaughtered  them,  till  night  stopped  the  car- 
nage. 

Aleppo,  it  would  seem,  had  already  surrendered.  Damas- 
cus fell  an  easy  prey  to  the  conquerors.  The  Mussulmans 
abandoned  the  towns  on  the  road  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  Holy 
City  itself  was  left  nearly  undefended.  The  Templars  march- 
ed on  and  took  possession  of  Hierosolyma,  and  it  was  now  that 
they  celebrated  the  feast  of  Easter  in  triumph  and  rejoicing. 

One  more  effort  was  made  by  Cazan  to  rouse  the  European 
Christians  to  seize  the  favorable  opportunity,  and  had  it  been 
successful,  what  might  have  been  the  result  ?  All  were  dull 
to  the  call,  however ;  and  though  Pope  Boniface,  in  his  let- 
ters, lauds  the  pagan  protector  of  Christianity,  he  exerted  him- 
self but  little  to  second  the  efforts  of  the  Tartar. 

In  the  mean  time,  disorders  broke  out  in  Iran,  and  Cazan 
was  obliged  to  withdraw,  in  order  to  restore  tranquillity  in  his 
own  dominions.  He  left,  however,  a  considerable  force  under 
the  command  of  the  grand  master,  who,  pursuing  his  success- 
ful course,  drove  the  Mamalukes  back  to  Gaza,  and  forced 
them  even,  it  is  said,  to  take  refuge  in  the  desert. 

Then  comes  a  period  of  doubt  and  darkness.  Cazan  trust- 
ed, it  would  appear,  to  some  Mohammedan  officers,  who  be- 
trayed his  cause.  The  Mussulmans  of  Syria  rose  in  defense 
of  their  religion  ;  and,  although  supported  by  re-enforcements 
from  Persia,  De  Molay  was  forced  to  retreat.  The  struggle, 
however,  was  again  renewed ;  but  the  illness  of  Cazan,  his 
death  in  1303,  and  the  decline  of  the  Mogul  power,  deprived 
the  Christians  of  their  last  hope  of  recovering  the  Holy  Land. 

After  all  had  been  lost  which  the  brief  campaign  of  1299 
had  obtained,  a  party  of  the  Templars  retreated  to  a  small 
island  in  the  neighborhood  of  Tortosa,  where  they  were  speed- 
ily attacked  by  an  overwhelming  force,  and  the  greater  part 
of  them  were  put  to  death  or  sent  in  chains  to  Egypt.  Some 
of  them  escaped,  however,  or  were  ransomed  from  captivity  ; 
and  among  them  was  James  de  Molay,  who  was  reserved  for 
a  fate  more  terrible  than  an  honorable  death  by  the  sword  of 
the  infidel.* 

*  John  yillani  gives  some  canons  detaOs,  both  of  the  manner  of  life 


140  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

There  is  a  vacancy  in  the  history  of  the  Templars  for  sev- 
eral years.  The  order  was  still  numerous  in  England,  France, 
Spain,  Portugal,  Germany,  and  Italy ;  but  we  know  little  of 
their  proceedings,  from  a  short  time  before  the  death  of  Cazan- 
Khan,  to  the  first  open  commencement  of  the  infamous  per- 
secution of  the  order  in  the  year  1307.  The  head-quarters  of 
the  Templars  had  been  re-established  in  Cyprus ;  and  there 
was  the  chief  treasury  of  the  order,  under  the  care  of  James 
de  Molay,  who  was  apparently  unsuspicious  of  any  evil  act 
meditated  against  a  body  of  men  who  had  been  for  so  many 
years  the  main  support  of  Christian  Palestine. 

Nevertheless,  numerous  events  had  taken  place  which  might 
have  shown  this  brave,  dignified,  and  amiable  man  the  blow 
that  menaced  the  order,  its  object,  and  its  cause.  Right  and 
justice  had  been  violated  toward  the  Templars  in  many  coun- 
tries. Two  Edwards  had  seized,  without  just  cause,  consid- 
erable sums  belonging  to  the  Templars  in  England.  Many 
noblemen  and  sovereign  princes  had  infringed  their  rights  and 
privileges.     The  clergy,  generally,  hated  and  menaced  them, 

of  the  Moguls,  and  of  the  events  which  took  place  in  Syria  at  the  end 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  He  declares  that  Cazan  was  actually  con- 
verted to  Christianity  by  his  wife;  but  he  loads  the  story  of  the  con- 
version with  a  miracle  which  renders  it  doubtful.  He  asserts  positive- 
ly, however,  that  Cazau  visited  devoutly  the  Holy  Sepulcher;  and  in 
most  particulars  he  confirms  the  accounts  of  other  authors  respecting 
the  Tartar  invasion  of  Syria,  and  the  recoveiy  of  Jerusalem.  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  John  of  Ypres  has  confounded  some  of  the  actions 
of  Cazan  with  those  of  Houlagou,  for  it  would  certainly  seem  that  the 
author  lived  after  the  period  at  which  his  chronicle  terminates.  The 
manners  of  the  Tartars,  as  described  by  Villani,  would  appear  to  be 
those  which  prevailed  among  the  Moguls  at  an  earlier  period  than  the 
reign  of  Cazau,  for  they  had  certainly,  by  that  time,  a<loptod  many  of 
the  habits  of  the  nations  they  had  conquered,  and  lost  a  great  deal  of 
that  rude  simplicity  which  he  attributes  to  them.  It  is  very  possible, 
indeed,  that  they  still  drank  the  blood  of  their  horses  or  their  flocks, 
when  they  could  not  got  water;  but  their  residence  in  Bagdad  must 
have  inured  them  to  many  of  the  luxurious  habits  of  civilized  life ;  and 
it  is  clear,  from  other  accounts,  that  the  bow  and  arrow  were  not  the 
only  weapons  which  they  employed. 


THK    LAST    DAYS    OF    THE    TEMPLABS.       141 

on  account  of  the  immunities  which  had  been  granted  to  them 
by  various  popes.  Separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
deprived,  to  a  great  extent,  of  the  ties  of  kindred,  they  had 
few  interests  and  feelings  in  common  with  the  laity.  The 
spirit  of  the  crusades  had  died  out ;  Palestine  was  lost ;  they 
were  no  longer  admired  as  the  incarnation  of  a  wide- spread 
enthusiasm ;  they  were  no  longer  needed  as  the  barrier  to 
Christian  Europe  ;  but  it  was  individual  cupidity  and  person- 
al malice  which  prompted  their  destruction,  and  directed  the 
blow. 

The  Templars  were  not  faultless.  There  is  a  certain  de- 
gree of  cold  arrogance  almost  invariably  generated  by  unsocial 
isolation  ;  and  the  Templars,  proud  of  their  order,  were  prob- 
ably ofiensively  haughty  to  less  devoted,  if  not  less  courageous 
persons.  There  is  no  proof  that  they  were  ambitious ;  but 
the  fact  is  notorious  that  they  took  part  in  the  feuds  and  war- 
fares of  the  countries  which  they  inhabited,  and,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  drew,  in  the  service  of  a  secular  prince,  the 
sword  which  they  had  dedicated  to  the  service  of  God,  as  they 
understood  that  service.  Many  Templars  fell  on  the  field  of 
Falkirk,  aiding  the  most  iniquitous  oppression  that  any  prince 
ever  attempted  to  inflict  upon  an  independent  people.  They 
took  part  in  the  wars  of  the  rival  houses  of  Aragon  and  An- 
jou ;  and  they  supported  Boniface  VIII.  in  his  opposition  to 
Philip  the  Fair.  This  was  a  great  crime  in  the  eyes  of  the 
French  king ;  but  there  was  a  still  greater :  the  Templars 
were  exceedingly  wealthy. 

Philip  was  a  man,  cold,  calculating,  remorseless,  but  am- 
bitious and  avaricious  to  a  high  degree.  He  mounted  the 
French  throne  when  only  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  very 
soon  began  to  show  the  quaUties  which  he  afterward  displayed 
more  fully.  His  barbarous  treachery  toward  Guy  de  Dam- 
pierre,  count  of  Flanders,  and  his  young  daughter,  in  the  year 
1297,  left  a  stain  upon  his  name  which  nothing  could  eflace ; 
and  the  death  of  the  imhappy  princess,  from  grief,  roused  the 
indignation  of  all  Europe,  and  produced  a  war  between  France 
and  Flanders,  which,  of  course,  terminated  to  the  disadvant- 
age of  the  weaker  power.  By  a  double  marriage,  Philip 
contrived  to  detach  England  from  the  interests  of  the  Count 
of  Flanders  ;  by  another  act  of  treachery,  obtained  possession 
of  the  count,  his  two  sons,  and  forty  Flemish  noblemen ;  an- 
nexed Flanders  to  the  crown  of  France,  and  filled  it  with 
blood-suckers,  whose  sole  end  and  object  seemed  to  be  to  drain 
the  rich  country  of  its  wealth.     A  revolt  and  a  massacre  were 


142  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

the  consequences ;  and  the  king  himself,  not  daring  to  quit 
his  capital,  where  symptoms  of  disaffection  were  exceedingly 
strong,  sent  his  impetuous  cousin,  Robert  of  Artoise,  once  more 
to  subdue  and  punish  the  Flemings.  The  army  of  France, 
the  choice  of  her  nobility,  supported  by  a  large  body  of  infan- 
try, and  comprising  nearly  five  thousand  men  of  knightly  rank, 
was  defeated  at  Courtrai,  by  the  peasantry  and  citizens  of 
Flanders.  A  terrible  slaughter  took  place ;  and  four  thousand 
pairs  of  golden  spurs,  gathered  on  the  field  of  battle,  attested 
the  destruction  of  the  chivalry  of  France,  and  won  for  the 
event  the  name  in  history  of  the  battle  of  the  Spurs. 

Vengeance  was  strong  in  the  heart  of  the  King  of  France ; 
but  he  was  prevented  from  gratifying  it,  for  the  time,  by  the 
consequences  of  other  crimes.  The  people  of  France  suffered 
under  the  same  extortions  as  the  Flemings.  Tax  upon  tax 
ground  the  lower  classes  to  the  earth  ;  and  the  debasement, 
of  the  coin  had  reached  to  such  an  extent,  that  each  piece  of 
silver  or  gold  was  only  worth  one  seventh  part  of  its  nominal 
value.  The  king  and  his  ministers  forced  the  unhappy  sub- 
jects of  the  crown  to  receive  this  money  from  the  royal  mints 
at  the  same  rate  at  which  a  purer  coinage  passed  in  the  reign 
of  St.  Louis ;  and  in  the  mouth  of  the  people  the  name  of 
Philip  the  Fair  was  changed  to  Philip  the  False  Money-maker. 

Oppression,  borne  impatiently  and  long,  at  length  roused 
the  people  to  resistance.  Riots  took  place  in  many  towns ; 
and  in  the  capital,  the  people  rose  against  the  king  and  his 
ministers,  pillaged  the  houses  of  their  oppressors,  and  menaced 
the  safety  of  the  monarch.,-  Forced  to  fly  from  his  palace, 
Philip  took  refuge  in  the  strong  and  defensible  buildings  of 
the  Temple  The  people  followed  him  in  arms,  invested  the 
Temple  House,  and  threatened  to  starve  Philip  into  surrender. 
For  two  days  no  provisions  were  suffered  to  enter ;  but  the 
enthusiasm  of  fury  died  away ;  tranquillity  was  restored  in  the 
capital ;  and  the  king  escaped  the  fate  which  seemed  to  men- 
ace him. 

The  Templars  of  Paris  had  given  honorable  shelter  to  the 
monarch,  closed  their  gates  against  his  enemies,  and  promised 
to  protect  his  person.  But  there  is  much  reason  to  believe 
that  he  demanded  more  of  them,  that  he  required  them  to  act 
against  his  people,  and  that  the  Templars  refused.  It  wa» 
forbidden  to  them  to  draw  the  sword  against  their  fellow* 
Christians,  except  in  their  own  defense ;  and  although,  as  in- 
dividuals, they  had  occasionally  violated  this  rule,  yet  they 
had  never  done  so  in  a  body.      Moreover,  at  that  time  th* 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS.         143 

most  vehement  dissensions  existed  between  the  King  of  France 
and  the  papal  see,  going  on  to  indecent  violence  on  the  part 
of  Philip,  which  the  Templars  could  not  see  without  indigna- 
tion, exercised  toward  a  pontiff  who  had  always  shown  him- 
self favorable  to  their  order. 

This  cause  of  offense  was  probably  not  forgotten,  yet  Philip 
could  dissemble  ;  and  it  would  appear  that  no  plan  for  taking 
vengeance  on  the  Templars,  or  stripping  them  of  their  wealth, 
suggested  itself,  so  long  as  the  papal  throne  was  occupied  by 
a  pontifl'  independent  of  the  power  of  France.  The  popes 
had  so  completely  committed  themselves  to  the  support  of  the 
order  of  the  Temple,  that  with  no  degree  of  decency  could  they 
withdraw  their  protection;  and  Alexander  IV.,  in  the  middle 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  had  even  defended  the  Templars, 
both  against  the  clergy  and  the  monastic  orders,  with  a  vigor 
and  decision  that  repressed  lor  a  time  the  jealousy  which  the 
military  monks  had  excited. 

Boniface  VIII.,  an  intemperate  and  turbulent  man,  died  in 
the  end  of  1303,  from  the  effects  produced  upon  an  exhausted 
frame  and  vehement  mind,  by  the  ill  treatment  he  had  re- 
ceived at  the  hands  of  Philip  the  Fair.  He  was  succeeded 
by  a  wiser  and  a  better  pontiff,  Benedict  XI,,  cardinal  of  Os- 
tia,  not  wanting  in  firmness,  not  wanting  in  moderation.  He 
quieted  the  dissensions  of  the  Church,  mitigated  the  severity 
of  the  bulls  which  Boniface  had  fulminated  against  Philip, 
but  refused  to  grant  the  perfect  reconciliation  of  that  monarch 
to  the  Church,  till  he  had  made  more  ample  atonement  for 
his  sacrilegious  violence  than  he  was  yet  inclined  to  do.  It 
was  at  this  period  that  the  French  king,  knowing  that,  under 
such  a  man  as  Benedict,  it  would  be  impossible  to  execute  a 
scheme  for  the  destruction  of  the  Templars,  affected,  with  a 
common  artifice  of  tyrants,  the  greatest  attachment  toward 
those  whose  ruin  he  meditated.  In  an  edict  of  1304,  by 
which  he  granted  them  numerous  privileges  in  France,  he 
burst  forth  in  their  praise  with  somewhat  exaggerated  pane- 
gyric. 

''The  works  of  piety  and  charity,"  he  says  ;  "  the  magnifi- 
cent liberality  which  the  holy  order  of  the  Temple  has  exer- 
cised at  all  times  and  in  all  places,  and  their  noble  courage, 
which  ought  still  to  be  excited  to  the  perilous  defense  of  the 
Holy  Land,  have  determined  us  to  spread  our  royal  bounty 
over  the  order  and  its  knights  in  our  kingdom,  and  to  afford 
special  marks  of  favor  to  an  institution  for  which  we  entertain 
a  sincere  predilection." 


-nvi 


144  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

Favors  and  praises,  from  a  treacherous  and  unscrupulous 
monarch,  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  caused  alarm  ;  but  Philip 
had  as  yet  displayed  no  enmity  of  any  kind  toward  an  order 
confident  in  its  strength  and  proud  of  its  services.  The  grand 
master,  James  de  Molay,  had  held  the  infant  son  of  the  French 
king  at  the  baptismal  font.  The  Temple  House  at  Paris  had 
been  the  monarch's  choseft  place  of  refuge  in  the  hour  of 
danger.  The  order  numbered  among  its  knights  nobles  of 
the  highest  rank  in  France,  and  princes  allied  to  the  blood 
royal.  They  had  no  fear,  no  suspicion,  even  vi^hen  their  ruin 
was  determined,  and  nothing  was  wanting  but  opportunity. 

Opportunity  soon  came.  On  the  7th  of  July,  1304,  died 
Benedict  XI. ;  and  intrigues  began  for  the  tiara,  on  which 
the  fate  of  the  order  of  the  Temple  depended.  For  many 
months,  the  cardinals  proceeded  to  no  election.  The  conclave 
was  divided  into  two  factions:  the  Italian  headed  by  the 
family  of  Cajetan,  from  whence  had  sprung  Boniface  VIII. ; 
and  the  French  led  by  Orsini.  The  factions  were  equal ;  and 
lor  nine  long  months  the  despicable  and  detestable  cabals  con- 
tinued. At  length  the  Cardinal  Bishop  of  Ostia,  Nicolas  di 
Prato,  one  of  the  Italian  party,  was  secretly  gained  to  the  m- 
terests  of  Philip,  and  acted  thenceforth  with  Italian  cumiing 
imder  French  influence.  To  settle  the  long-pending  election, 
he  proposed  to  the  conclave  that  the  Italian  party  should 
name  three  persons,  none  of  whom  should  be  an  Italian,  that 
the  French  party  should  select  one  of  the  three,  and  that  both 
should  then  unite  for  his  election.  The  suggestion  was  im^ 
mediately  adopted,  and  secret  messengers  were  sent  ofi'bearuig 
intelligence  from  the  Bishop  of  Ostia  to  the  King  of  France. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

It  was  in  the  bright  month  of  May ;  and  there  is  no  month 
when  nature  looks  more  beautiful  in  the  south  of  France. 
The  fine  old  city  of  Bordeaux  was  full  of  fetes,  pageants,  and 
processions  ;  and  the  splendid  ceremonies  of  the  Roman  Cath- 
olic Church  lost  nothing  in  the  hands  of  the  archbishop.  It 
was  the  27th  of  May,  Holy  Thursday,  Aecension-Uay.  The 
Cathedral  of  St.  Andrew  was  crowded.      A  multitude  of 


h 


THE   LAST    DAYS   OF   THE   TEMPLARS,   r    145 

«►• 

priests  surrounded  the  altar.     The  archbishop  officiated  in 
person,  blazing  like  a  meteor  in  his  gorgeous  robes. 

Wonderful  it  is,  how  many  sins  &.nd  iniquities,  satin,  and 
embroidery,  and  gold  lace  can  cover  entirely  from  the  eyes  of 
the  multitude  in  the  warm  and  enthusiastic  South.  The  peo- 
ple gaze  with  reverence  upon  the  majestic  archbishop,  and 
bow  the  head  in  humble  devotion  for  his  apostolical  benedic- 
tion. But  Bertrand  de  Got,  Bertrand  de  Got,  thou  art  not 
a  very  holy  man,  if  all  tales  be  true  I  License  and  luxury, 
avarice  and  simony,  are  said  to  have  comfortable  lodging  in 
thy  palace ;  and  the  fair  Countess  of  Perigord,  who  moves 
out  of  the  church  before  thee,  will  probably  go  no  further  than 
that  palace  for  the  day. 

With  dignified  step  and  slow,  surrounded  by  his  officers, 
and  preceded  by  his  cross-bearers,  the  archbishop  moved  down 
the  nave,  in  his  pontifical  robes,  and  out  of  the  great  portal, 
willing  to  show  himself,  in  his  splendor,  to  the  people  who 
thronged  the  square.  But  when  he  was  near  the  door,  a 
chaplain  pressed  up  to  him,  and  whispered  something  in  his 
ear.  A  change  came  over  the  archbishop's  face.  His  cheek 
grew  somewhat  paler,  and  a  frown  came  upon  his  brow.  He 
marched  on,  however,  with  even  a  prouder  air  than  before, 
and  when  he  issued  forth,  looked  to  the  right  and  left,  as  if  in 
search  of  something.  Not  far  from  the  gates  of  the  arch- 
bishop's palace  stood  two  or  three  men,  holding  dusty  and 
tired  horses  by  the  bridle  ;  but  Bertrand  de  Got  entered  with- 
out taking  notice  of  them,  and  retired  to  his  private  apart- 
ments, leaving  his  train  in  the  halls  below. 

"  Why  you  look  angry,  my  lord,"  said  the  fair  Countess  of 
Perigord.  *'  Has  any  thing  evil  happened  since  I  left  St. 
Andrew's  ?" 

"  Messengers  have  arrived  from  that  beast,  Philip  of 
France,"  replied  the  archbishop,  who  was  not  always  very 
choice  in  the  epithets  he  applied  in  private  to  his  enemies, 
"  'Tis  some  new  quarrel,  I  suppose,  stirred  up  by  that  per- 
turber  of  the  peace  of  the  Church.  But  we  shall  soon  hear 
more." 

A  few  minutes  after,  a  handsome  and  graceful  boy  brought 
him  a  letter,  closed  with  silk  and  a  great  seal ;  and,  tearing 
it  roughly  open,  the  prelate  read.  The  contents  of  the  letter 
produced  a  great  change  upon  him.  He  smiled,  and  then 
meditated,  and  then  frowned,  and  then  smiled  again.  Then, 
turning  to  the  Coimtess  of  Perigord,  he  said, 

This  seems  a  repentant  son  of  the  Church,  this  King  of 
G 


146  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

France.     We  must  not  reject  the  penitent.     He  invites  me 
to  meet  him  secretly,  on  matters  which  much  interest  me." 

"  Does  he  give  security  for  your  safety  ?"  demanded  the 
countess. 

"  He  does,"  replied  the  archbishop  ;  "  and  I  will  go." 
Horses  were  saddled  in  haste,  and  attendants  ordered  to 
prepare.  A  light  meal  was  made  ready,  and  taken  ;  and  is- 
suing forth,  shortly  after,  by  a  private  door  of  the  palace,  Ber- 
trand  de  Got  mounted  a  strong  horse,  and,  followed  by  a  few 
attendants,  set  out  in  a  northerly  direction.  His  apparel  was 
a  good  deal  changed.  It  was  not  altogether  unclerical ;  but 
over  all  was  a  large  mantle,  which  concealed  the  signs  of  his 
profession.  The  archbishop  rode  well,  and  he  rode  fast.  He 
rose  the  hill  of  Carbon  Blanc  and  that  of  La  Grave,  and  he 
drew  not  a  bridle  till  he  reached  Cubzac.  There  he  watered 
his  horses ;  but  he  turned  not  aside ;  and  immediately  after 
rode  on  upon  the  way  to  Blaye.  Here,  however,  he  was 
obliged  to  pause  for  the  night ;  for  he  had  ridden  six-and- 
thirty  miles  since  he  set  out,  and  darkness  had  overtaken 
him  on  the  road.  He  had  a  longer  journey  before  him  the 
next  day,  and  he  rose  early ;  but  there  was  a  thick  fog  over 
the  river,  and  the  bishop  paused  for  an  hour  or  two  till  it 
had  dispersed.  As  soon  as  the  sun  shone  out  a  Httle,  he  was 
on  horseback  again,  and  on  his  way  to  St.  Aubin.  He  stop- 
ped to  breakfast  at  the  priory,  surprising  the  good  monks  by 
his  imexpected  visitation.  Then  on  to  Mirambeau,  as  fast  as 
he  could  go,  and  thence  to  Pons,  where  he  found  hospitable 
entertainment  at  the  castle  ;  for  the  Lord  of  Pons  was  an  old 
boon  companion  of  the  archbishop.  The  wine  was  exceeding- 
ly good  and  the  archbishop  tired.  His  horses,  too,  wanted 
rest,  so  he  was  charitable  to  them  and  to  himself;  and  he 
stayed  two  hours.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  mounted  again, 
and  rode  on  five  leagues  more,  to  Saintes,  which  he  reached 
when  the  sun  was  not  very  far  from  the  horizon.  He  had 
not  got  to  the  end  of  his  journey,  however,  by  six  leagues  and 
a  half;  and  on  he  went,  seeing  the  sun  setting  over  the  vines, 
which  were  covering  hill  and  dale  in  rich  profusion.  From 
the  last  slight  eminence,  over  which  he  passed  before  the  close 
of  day,  he  could  see  the  distant  towers  of  St.  Jean  d' Angely 
in  the  glowing  light  of  the  west,  with  its  green  vineyards,  and 
a  deep  wood,  which  at  that  time  stretched  far  away  on  the 
cast,  all  flooded  with  purple  and  gold.  Forward  he  went ; 
but  as  ho  came  near  the  town,  it  being  then  quite  dark,  he 
conferred  with  one  of  his  attendants  on  the  best  road  to  take, 


THE   LAST   DAYS   OF   THE   TEMPLARS.        147 

and  turned  away  to  the  right,  about  a  mile  before  he  reached 
the  gates.  The  road  led  through  the  forest ;  and,  after  pur- 
suing it  for  about  half  an  hour,  he  stopped  at  some  great  gates, 
above  which,  and  towering  over  the  trees  around,  rose  the 
walls  and  piimacles  of  an  old  abbey.  Dismounting  from  his 
horse,  the  archbishop  applied  for  admission,  and  inquired  of 
the  porter  whether  the  Count  of  Puelle*  had  arrived  there 
that  day. 

"  Not  an  hour  ago,"  replied  the  porter.  "  Who  is  it  wishes 
to  see  him?     I  must  not  admit  any  one  without  warning." 

"  Tell  him  it  is  Father  Bertrand,  the  poor  priest  of  St.  An- 
drew's of  Bordeaux,"  replied  the  archbishop ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more  he  was  admitted.  He  walked  on,  through  the 
stone  cloisters  to  the  abbot's  lodging,  and  was  led  by  a  lay 
brother  to  a  small  room,  into  which  he  was  ushered  unan- 
nounced ;  but  at  a  table  before  him,  perfectly  alone,  sat  Philip 
the  Fair,  king  of  France,  dressed  in  exceedingly  plain  gar- 
ments, and  looking  somewhat  aged  and  worn  since  the  prelate 
had  last  seen  him,  but  still,  perhaps,  the  handsomest  man  in 
Europe  at  that  time. 

The  archbishop  bowed  low,  while  the  lay  brother  who  had 
guided  him  shut  the  door ;  and  Philip,  without  rising  from 
his  seat,  gazed  in  his  face  with  a  dark,  searching  smile.  The 
prelate  advanced  slowly  to  the  table,  not  well  knowing  what 
to  think  of  his  reception,  and  then  stood  looking  at  the  king 
with  the  lamp  between  them.  The  silence  lasted  nearly  a 
minute ;  and  then,  with  a  low  laugh,  but  in  very  distinct 
tones,  Philip  asked, 

"  Will  you  be  pope  ?" 

If  he  had  struck  him,  the  archbishop  would  have  been  less 
astonished.  He  was  too  much  accubcomed  to  dealing  with 
great  things,  however,  to  show  all  the  surprise  he  felt.  Since 
his  elevation  to  the  archiepiscopal  dignity,  he  had  Hved  in 
continual  disputes  v^dth  the  King  of  France,  and  had  thwart- 
ed him  on  many  occasions.  Nevertheless,  he  grappled  with 
the  question  at  once,  and  that  boldly. 

"  Considering  all  things,  sire,"  he  said,  "  I  should  have 
fancied  myself  the  last  man  you  would  choose  to  name  or 
the  conclave  to  elect ;  but  this  I  will  say,  that  if  you  so  favor 
me,  and  they  so  honor  me,  both  shall  find  that  I  am  no  longejr 
the  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux." 

"  I  care  not  what  they  find,"  answered  Philip,  bluntly ; 

*  It  was  at  Mous  en  Puelle  that  Philip  and  his  brother  gave  a  siguat 
defeat  to  the  Flemings. 


148  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

"but  of  course,  my  good  lord,  /expect  to  find  a  diiTerencc.  I 
am  not  unwilling  to  see  men  taken  in  their  own  net  sometimes. 
Now  it  is  very  possible  that,  simply  because  they  thought  you 
the  last  man  I  would  select,  the  cardinals  have  placed  your 
name  upon  this  paper.  You  will  remark  that  it  contains  three. 
From  these  the  Orsini  faction  are  to  choose  one.  I  am  to 
name  which  they  are  to  choose  ;  and  whether  I  do  choose  the 
man  whom  they  least  expect,  depends  upon  the  accuracy  of 
the  judgment  I  have  formed  of  him.  I  have  found  you  an 
unruly  bishop,  my  lord,  a  contumacious  archbishop ;  but,  me- 
thinks,  you  may  be  made  a  very  good  pope,  to  my  mind." 

"  You  will  find  me  most  grateful  for  your  majesty's  favors," 
replied  the  archbishop,  "  and  submissive  in  all  things  to  your 
better  judgment  and  your  good  designs." 

"  I  must,  of  course,  have  certainties,"  replied  the  King  of 
France.  "  I  mean,  something  more  definite  than  vague  as- 
surances. Five  positive  engagements  you  must  enter  into  with 
me.  Look,  I  will  put  down  the  conditions;"  and,  taking  a 
piece  of  paper,  he  wrote.  When  he  had  done,  he  raised  the 
paper  toward  the  lamp  and  read  : 

"  The  first  condition  is,"  he  said,  "  that  you  reconcile  me 
perfectly  with  the  Church ;  the  second,  that  you  shall  annul 
all  ecclesiastical  censures  against  my  person,  my  ministers,  my 
subjects,  and  my  allies  ;  the  third,  that  you  grant  me,  for  five 
years,  the  tenths  of  my  kingdom ;  the  fourth,  that  you  author- 
itatively condemn  the  memory  of  Boniface — " 

The  king  paused,  not  with  the  slightest  appearance  of  doubt 
— ^for  he  looked  firmly  in  the  prelate's  face — but  with  that 
calm,  deliberate  halt  which  is  sometimes  employed  by  orators 
in  speaking,  to  render  what  they  arc  about  to  say  moreJ^im- 
pressive.  Bertrand  de  Got,  at  each  of  the  four  conditions  re- 
cited, had  quietly  bowed  his  head  without  raising  his  eyes, 
which  were  fixed  upon  the  table,  as  he  stood  in  the  attitude 
of  attention. 

"  The  fifth,"  said  the  king,  in  continuation,  "  I  shall  keep 
to  myself  for  the  present,  but  will  let  you  know  its  nature  at 
the  proper  time  and  place." 

Bertrand  de  Got  gently  bowed  his  head  once  more.  Philip 
saw  that  he  was  his  ;  that  he  was  resolute  to  purchase  at  any 
price ;  and,  putting  the  paper  over  to  him,  with  a  laugh,  to 
seal  the  compact,  he  said,  "  There,  sign  that,  my  lord,  and  you 
are  pope."* 

*  This  interview  and  conversation  tire  not  imaginary :  at  least,  my  im- 
agination has  nothing  to  do  with  it.     The  fact  of  the  secret  interview, 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    THE    TEMPLARS.       149 

The  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  without  the  slightest  hesita- 
tion, signed  the  paper  ;  and  Philip,  laying  his  hand  smartly  on 
his  shoulder,  said,  "I  congratulate  your  holiness.  The  courier 
shall  set  out  this  very  night  (he  is  booted  and  saddled)  and 
bear  the  letter  to  the  conclave.     It  is  already  written." 

"  I  am  glad  your  majesty  judged  so  justly  of  my  devotion  to 
your  service,"  replied  Bertrand  de  Got,  "  and  comprehended 
that,  in  the  unhappy  differences  which  have  occasionally  taken 
place  between  us,  I  only  had  in  view  your  real  interests." 

"  Ha !  my  lord,"  replied  Philip,  "  we  both  understood  each 
other." 

The  letter  was  immediately  dispatched.  Both  the  Orsini 
and  Cajetan  factions  were  surprised  at  the  nomination  it  con- 
tained. But  they  were  bound  by  their  compact.  Bertrand 
de  Got  was  elected  pope,  and  assumed  the  name  of  Clement 
V.  His  coronation  took  place  at  Lyons ;  and,  to  the  con- 
sternation of  Italy,  he  declared  that  he  would  fix  his  residence 
at  Avignon.  Ten  cardinals  were  created  at  his  coronation. 
Nine  of  them  were  Frenchmen.  It  was  clear  to  every  one 
that  he  had  sold  himself  for  a  tiara. 

He  proceeded  in  haste  to  execute  the  four  specified  condi- 
tions of  the  bond.  What  was  the  fifth  ?  A  French  historian 
has  said,  "  It  has  never  been  positively  known  what  was  the 
fifth  article  of  the  convention ;  but  all  historians  have  con- 
jectured, perhaps  from  the  facts  which  followed,  that  it  was 
the  destruction  of  the  order  of  the  Temple." 

Can  any  one  doubt  it  ?  Philip  might  well  keep  it  secret, 
even  from  the  creature  whose  soul  he  was  purchasing,  till  he 
had  in  some  degree  prepared  the  way  for  a  proposal  the  most 
monstrous  and  the  most  frightful  that  ever  was  made  by  one 
man  to  another. 

To  reconcile  an  offending  monarch  to  the  Church,  to  annul 

the  place,  and  the  time,  is  admitted.  The  conversation,  with  its  com- 
pact, is  told  by  almost  eveiy  historian  of  the  time,  with  some  small  va- 
riation in  the  words,  but  none  in  the  sense,  and  very  little  in  the  manner. 
All  give  the  same  description  of  the  king's  abruptness,  and  of  the  brev- 
ity of  the  discussion.  Philip  and  Bertrand  de  Got  were  here,  as  bad 
men  meeting,  the  one  to  sell,  the  other  to  buy.  The  former  named  his 
price.  The  latter  agreed  at  once  to  give  it.  This  is  the  history  of  the 
whole  transaction.  How  historians  happen  to  know  the  details,  I  need 
not  here  inquire.  Whether  Philip,  in  one  of  his  scornful  moods,  told 
the  anecdote  of  his  creature  the  pope,  or  vvhether  Bertrand,  in  some 
amorous  folly,  divulged  the  secret  history  of  his  own  disgrace,  we  do 
not  discover.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  only  persons  present  were  Philip 
and  the  prelate ;  but  the  agreement  of  all  historians  as  to  what  took 
place  leaves  little  doubt  regarding  the  facts. 


150  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

ecclesiastical  censures,  to  grant  ecclesiastical  property  to  secu- 
lar purposes,  was  nothing  very  new  or  very  alarming.  To  con- 
demn the  memory  of  a  defunct  pope  might,  perhaps,  form  an 
unpleasant  precedent,  and  shake  the  authority  of  the  Church ; 
but  it  was  a  very  difierent  task  from  that  of  assailing,  con- 
demning, and  destroying  an  order  which  had  been  the  bulwark 
of  Christendom,  the  defense  of  the  Holy  Land,  the  favorite 
child  of  the  Church  for  centuries.  It  implied  falsehood,  in- 
justice, oppression,  cruelty,  slaughter,  murder.  All  this  the 
new  pope  was  called  upon  to  sanction  ;  and  Philip  might  well 
reserve  his  explanation  of  the  fifth  dreadful  condition  till  the 
mind  of  his  bondman  was  familiarized  with  the  contemplation 
by  degrees. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

A  PRETEXT  ?  Where  was  the  wicked  man,  armed  with 
power,  who  ever  wanted  a  pretext  ?  "  Give  me  one  line  of  a 
man's  handwriting,"  said  Richelieu,  "  and  I  will  bring  his 
head  to  the  block."  In  an  order,  comprising  some  thousands, 
was  not  one  traitor  to  be  found  ?  or  one  coward  ?  or  one  weak 
and  irresolute  man  ?  Among  the  chaplains,  or  the  serving 
brothers,  could  no  one  be  wrought  upon  by  fear,  or  pain,  or 
cupidity  ?  Torture  and  death  on  the  one  side  ;  life  and  riches 
on  the  other  :  surely  some  one,  out  of  many  thousands,  could 
be  found  to  lie,  and  to  confess,  and  to  betray. 

The  rules  of  the  Temple  were  severe,  burdensome  to  a  de- 
gree, which  could  only  bo  rendered  tolerable  by  the  sustaining 
power  of  enthusiasm.  Some  must  have  failed  in  the  trial. 
Some  must  have  yielded  to  temptation.  Some  must  have 
bent  under  the  load.  It  was  known  that  some  had  been  ex- 
pelled from  the  order ;  that  some  had  been  severely  punished ; 
that  some  had  been  degraded  and  disgraced. 

It  is  probable  that  Philip  anticipated  no  great  difficulty  in 
finding  a  pretext  I  and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  found  is 
told  in  two  ways,  rightly,  perhaps,  in  both  instances. 

The  cloud  was  seen  before  the  lightning,  however.  Rumors 
were  spread,  which,  in  many  instances,  can  be  clearly  traced 
to  the  French  capital,  accusing  the  brethren  of  the  Temple  of 
heresy,  impiety,  and  many  other  crimes.     These  rumors  burst 


i 


THE    LAST   DAYS   OF   THE   TEMPLARS.       151 

upon  Europe  suddenly,  soon  after  the  elevation  of  Bertrand  de 
Got  to  the  chair  of  St.  Peter.  Good  Heaven !  Bertrand  do 
Got  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  ! 

Previous  to  that  time  the  regular  clergy  had  grumbled,  the 
non-fighting  monks  had  complained,  many  a  noble  and  many 
a  sovereign  had  carped  at  and  pillaged  the  order  of  the  Tem- 
ple ;  but  the  brethren  were  universally  admitted  to  be  gallant 
and  devoted  soldiers  of  Christ.  Now,  however,  whispers  were 
heard  that  they  were  in  reality  infidels,  worse  than  the  pagans 
against  whom  they  had  fought ;  and  the  story  soon  assumed 
a  tangible  form. 

According  to  one  version,  a  man  of  the  name  of  Florian,  a 
citizen  of  Beziers,  who  had  been  condemned  for  manifold  ini- 
quities, made  the  first  accusation.  According  to  another,  a 
Templar  of  the  name  of  Florentine,  who  had  been  condemned 
by  the  grand  preceptor  of  France  to  perpetual  imprisonment 
for  his  crimes,  made  a  confession  of  the  heresies  and  wicked- 
ness of  his  order.  The  most  probable  account,  however,  is 
that  given  by  a  French  author,  who  combines  these  two  state- 
ments ;  for,  in  regard  to  the  first  assertion,  taken  separately, 
we  do  not  see  how  a  common  criminal  of  Bezier  could  acquire 
any  information  regarding  the  practices  of  the  Templars ;  and 
in  regard  to  the  second,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  the 
confession  of  a  Templar,  condemned  by  his  own  order  to  per- 
petual imprisonment,  could  reach  the  ears  of  the  King  of 
France ;  for  the  Templars  had  jurisdiction  and  prisons  of 
their  own. 

The  probable  statement  is  this.  Two  criminals  condemned 
for  civil  offenses,  one  a  citizen  of  Beziers,  another  an  apostate 
brother  of  the  Temple,  were  confined  in  the  same  dungeon  in 
Paris  previous  to  execution.  Confessors  were  not  in  those 
days  allowed  to  ordinary  criminals  condemned  to  death  ;  and 
these  two  men  related,  or  confessed,  to  each  other  their  several 
crimes.  The  degraded  Templar  charged  his  order  with  a 
multitude  of  iniquities ;  and  the  citizen  of  Beziers  (seeing  a 
chance  of  safety  in  the  revelation  of  the  secret  he  possessed) 
announced  to  his  jailers  that  he  had  most  important  disclos- 
ures to  make  regarding  the  Templars,  and  demanded  to  speak 
with  the  king  in  person.  The  two  prisoners  were  consequent- 
ly brought  before  Philip,  who  listened  to  their  tale. 

Here  ends  the  statement  abruptly ;  and  it  is  probable,  the 
author  might  have  added,  with  truth,  that  these  persons  were 
sought  for,  prompted,  and  promised  life,  on  condition  of  serv- 
ing the  purposes  of  the  monarch. 


152  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

It  is  admitted  on  all  hands,  however,  that  the  first  charge 
against  the  Templars  rested  on  the  statement  of  one  or  two 
condemned  criminals.  When  this  statement  was  made,  we 
do  not  exactly  know ;  but  it  would  appear  that  Philip  and 
Clement  diligently  labored  to  get  the  grand  master,  James  de 
Molay,  into  their  power,  before  they  suffered  their  intentions 
against  the  order  to  become  apparent.  It  must  not  be  sup- 
posed, indeed,  that  even  Bertrand  de  Got  felt  no  reluctance  to 
comply  with  the  cruel  mandate  of  the  French  king.  To  him 
was  first  made  known  the  charges  against  the  Templars  ;  and 
he  replied  at  once,  that  he  could  not  believe  them,  that  they 
were  "  incredible,  impossible,  and  unheard  of"* 

Philip,  however,  called  for  the  execution  of  his  bond.  In 
June,  1306,  Clement  invited  the  grand  masters  of  the  Temple 
and  the  Hospital  to  join  him  in  France,  without  delay,  with 
as  much  secrecy,  and  as  small  a  retinue  as  possible,  in  order 
to  concert  with  him  measures  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy 
Land.  The  grand  master  of  the  Hospital  was  wise,  and  re- 
fused to  come.  The  grand  master  of  the  Temple  was  simple 
and  unsuspicious.  He  was  at  this  time  in  Cyprus  ;  and  he  set 
out  at  once,  with  sixty  knights,  to  confer  with  the  pope.  He 
brought  with  him  a  considerable  amount  of  treasure,  which 
he  deposited  at  the  Temple  House  in  Paris,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  year  1307,  and,  after  a  friendly  and  familiar  interview 
with  the  King  of  France,  proceeded  to  Poitiers,  where  the  pope 
at  that  time  resided.  He  was  there  amused  for  some  time 
with  proposals  very  different  from  those  which  he  had  expect- 
ed. Some  mention  was  made,  indeed,  of  a  new  expedition  to 
the  Holy  Land  ;  but  the  principal  object  which  the  pope  ap- 
peared to  have  in  view,  M'as  to  effect  a  union  between  the 
orders  of  the  Temple  and  the  Hospital.  The  discussions  on  \ 
this  subject  were  long.  Jatnes  de  Molay  refused  to  sanction 
the  union,  declaring  that  the  charge  of  dissensions  between 
the  two  great  military  orders  was  false,  and  that  no  jealousy 
existed  between  them,  except  that  rivalry  which  was  neces-  ■ 
sary  to  produce  a  salutary  spirit  of  emulation. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  King  of  France  was  secretly  taking 
his  measures  for  the  final  catastrophe.  A  French  historian 
says,  that  he  feared  the  order  of  the  Temple,  knowing  how 
unpopular  he  was  in  his  own  kingdom. 

"  To  attempt  to  reform  an  armed  body,  and  to  warn  it  by 

*  ♦•  Ad  credendam  qute  tunc  dicebantur,  cum  (juasi  incrodibilia  et 
imposaibilia  viderentur,  nostrum  animum  vix  potuirauB  applicare.  quia 
tamcn  plura  incredibilia  ct  inauJitur,"  &c. 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE   TEMPLARS.       153 

public  reproaches,"  says  the  author,  "  was  to  suggest  to  it  to 
take  measures  which  might  have  consequences  dangerous  to 
the  tranquillity  of  the  kingdom  and  the  security  of  the  king 
himself.  Policy  required  that  it  should  be  taken  by  surprise ; 
and  policy  was  attended  to." 

Secret  letters  were  written  on  the  14th  of  September,  1307, 
to  the  king's  officers  in  all  the  provinces  of  France,  charging 
the  Templars  with  the  most  atrocious  crimes,  with  crimes  so 
monstrous  and  absurd  as  to  refute  the  accusation,  among  which 
were  prominent,  heresy,  idolatry,  sorcery,  the  renunciation  of 
the  Christian  religion,  and  mockery  of  the  cross  of  Christ. 

Two  hundred  and  thirty  knights  of  the  Temple  stood  as 
prisoners  before  Saladin,  by  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Tiberias. 
One  word  spoken  in  acknowledgment  of  the  false  prophet,  one 
renunciation  of  their  faith  in  the  Savior,  would  have  saved 
their  lives.  But  not  a  man  was  found  to  deny  his  Lord ;  and 
each  died  as  he  had  lived,  a  Christian  knight.  From  that 
hour  nearly  to  the  hour  at  which  the  charge  was  brought, 
generations  of  the  same  dauntless  warriors  had  moistened  the 
soil  of  Palestine  with  their  blood.  They  had  maintained  to 
the  last  the  breach  at  Acre.  When  all  fled,  the  bosoms  of  the 
Red  Cross  knights  made  ramparts  in  the  streets.  They  had 
defended  the  towers  of  the  Temple  to  the  last.  They  had 
again  entered  Jerusalem  triumphant,  and  had  prayed  to  God 
upon  the  heights  of  Mount  Sion.  Hundreds  of  them  had  died 
in  the  Island  of  Aradus.  Since  the  commencement  of  the 
century,  for  the  faith  of  Christ,  many  had  perished  in  bonds, 
as  well  as  in  the  field  ;  but  there  was  hardly  an  authentic  in- 
stance known  of  a  Templar  having  renounced  his  faith  to 
save  himself  from  death  or  slavery.  Only  three  short  years 
before,  the  King  of  France  himself  had  lauded  their  works  of 
piety  and  charity,  their  magnificent  liberality,  and  their  noble 
courage  ;  and  it  was  against  these  men  that  Philip  the  False 
Money-maker  brought  the  charge  of  idolatrous  apostasy.  It 
was  not  a  charge  against  one,  but  against  all.  It  was  not  a 
charge  of  sudden  dereliction,  but  of  habitual,  long-continued, 
systematic  apostasy.  The  renunciation  of  Christ,  he  said,  was 
the  rule  of  the  order. 

But  to  return  to  his  letters.  He  commanded  his  officers  in 
the  provinces  to  make  preparations  secretly,  to  seize  upon  all 
the  Templars,  their  houses  and  property,  and  then  to  hand 
the  brethren  over  to  examination  by  torture  if  it  should  be 
necessary. 

Before  the  latter  measure  was  to  be  employed,  it  seemed 
G2 


154  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

needful  to  inform  the  unhappy  Templars  of  what  they  were 
expected  to  confess  under  the  torture ;  otherwise,  in  the  igno- 
rance of  their  crime,  they  might  make  some  mistake  in  its  ac- 
knowledgment. The  seneschals  and  others  were,  therefore, 
directed  to  acquaint  them,  before  proceeding  to  examination, 
that  the  king  and  the  pope  had  been  convinced,  by  irreproach- 
able testimony,  of  the  crimes  specified  in  the  letter.  The  offi- 
cers were,  moreover,  ordered  "  to  promise  them  pardon  and 
favor,  if  they  confessed  the  truth,  and  if  not,  to  acquaint  them 
that  they  would  be  condemned  to  death." 

The  king's  commands  were  executed.  On  the  night  of 
Friday,  the  13th  of  October,  1307,  every  Temple  House  wa^ 
seized  throughout  the  realm  of  France,  and  all  the  knighu* 
and  serving  brothers  made  prisoners. 

En  eel  an  qu'ai  dist  orendroit, 
Je  ne  sai  k  tort  ou  k  droit, 
Furent  li  templiers,  sans  doutance, 
TouB  pris  par  le  royaume  de  France 
Ou  mois  d'Octembre,  ou  point  du  jour 
A  un  vendredi,  fut  le  jour. 

Thus  does  dd  Godefroy  of  Paris  tell  the  tale ;  and  the 
king's  secret  must  have  been  well  kept,  for  it  does  not  appeal 
that  there  was  suspicion,  preparation,  or  resistance  any  where. 

The  moment  the  first  act  was  successfully  accomplished,! 
and  the  gaUant  knights,  of  whom  there  were  at  that  time  fif-  j 
teen  thousand,  we  are  assured,  in  the  preceptories  of  Europe,  > 
the  mask  was  thrown  ofi*,  and  the  charges  made  public  to  thei 
world  at  large.  Philip  had,  a  few  days  before,  communicated 
them  by  letter  to  several  neighboring  monarchs,  in  the  hope 
of  inducing  others  to  follow  his  example,  and  work  the  over- 
throw of  the  whole  order  throughout  Europe  at  once  ;  but  the 
charges  were  so  wild,  so  improbable,  so  incredible,  that  men 
required  time  to  think  ere  they  even  afiected  to  believe  them. 
Even  Edward  the  Second,  the  weak  king  of  England,  son-in- 
law  to  the  French  king,  refused,  at  first,  to  give  credit  to  the 
^tale.  In  Germany  and  Spain,  the  noble  order  was  acquitted 
of  all  guilt ;  and  the  people  of  Cyprus  bore  honorable  testi- 
mony to  the  conduct  of  the  Templars  among  them.  In  Ita- 
ly, Sicily,  and  France,  the  persecution  raged  ;  and  his  own 
need  of  gold,  the  cupidity  of  his  followers,  and  the  bold  in- 
junctions of  the  pope,  speedily  extinguished  the  short-lived 
sense  of  justice  in  the  breast  of  Edward  of  England.  It  is, 
however,  upon  France  that  our  eyes  must  remain  fixed,  for 
there  the  horriblo  conspiracy  was  formed,  and  its  great  objects 


THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE   TEMPLARS.        155 

executed.  Every  step  in  the  whole  proceedings  of  Philip  and 
Clement  reveals  the  iniquity  of  their  motives  and  the  base- 
ness of  their  object.  Preaching  friars  were  specially  appoint- 
ed to  declaim  against  the  order  of  the  Temple  in  the  public 
places  of  Paris,  at  the  corners  of  streets,  and  in  the  royal  gar- 
dens ;  and  the  charges  made  against  the  knights  in  these  ser- 
mons would  have  shocked  the  common  sense  of  any  enlight- 
ened period.  But  this  was  an  age  of  the  most  gross  and 
debasing  superstition,  when  the  idlest  tales  and  the  wildest 
fancies,  the  most  impudent  quackery  and  most  barefaced  im- 
posture found  ready  credence  with  the  lower,  the  middle,  and 
many  of  the  higher  classes. 

Let  us  look  into  these  charges,  both  those  which  were  form- 
ally embodied  in  the  act  of  accusation  and  those  which  were 
diligently  urged  by  the  agents  of  a  false  and  perfidious  king. 
Some,  indeed,  we  must  pass  over  in  silence,  for  they  are  too 
foul  to  appear  upon  a  page  intended  for  the  sight  of  all.  It 
is  well  for  innocence  to  remain  unconscious  of  much  that  the 
heart  of  the  wicked  can  conceive.  The  Templars  were  ac- 
cused then,  publicly,  of  denying  Christ,  of  worshiping,  in  a 
dark  cave,  an  idol,  in  the  figure  of  a  man  covered  with  an 
old  human  skin  and  having  two  bright  and  lustrous  carbun- 
cles for  eyes  ;  of  anointing  it  with  the  fat  of  young  children, 
roasted  ;  of  looking  upon  it  as  their  sovereign  God,  and  trust- 
ing in  it  for  prosperity  and  success.  They  were  accused,  also, 
of  worshiping  the  devil,  in  the  form  of  a  cat ;  of  burning  the 
bodies  of  dead  Templars,  and  giving  the  ashes  to  the  younger 
brethren  to  eat  and  drink  mingled  with  their  food.  They 
were  charged  with  various  unnatural  crimes,  frightful  de- 
baucheries and  superstitious  abominations,  only  to  be  credited 
upon  the  supposition  that  the  whole  order  was  insane.  More- 
over, it  was  distinctly  charged  against  them  that,  at  their  re- 
ception into  the  order,  or  as  soon  as  possible  afterward,  they 
were  compelled,  besides  denying  Christ,  the  Virgin,  and  the 
saints,  to  spit  and  trample  upon  the  cross,  and  to  gird  them- 
selves with,  and  wear  continually,  little  cords  which  had 
touched  the  heads  of  their  idols,  of  which  they  had  many,  be- 
sides the  one  already  named ;  and,  moreover,  that  they  be- 
lieved the  grand  master,  the  visitor,  and  the  preceptor  could 
absolve  them  from  their  sins. 

Such  is  an  abstract  of  the  accusation.  It  is  not  to  bo 
doubted,  indeed,  that  if  the  charges  had  been,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, submitted  to  Bertrand  de  Got,  that  politic  and  cuu- 
ning  prelate  would  have  perceived  that  the  extravagance  of 


156  DARK   SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

the  accusation  was  sufficient  for  its  refutation,  and  would  have 
so  modified  it  as  to  render  it  more  consonant  with  common 
sense.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  Philip,  who  was  utterly 
careless  of  any  disgrace  attending  the  means,  so  that  his  object 
was  attained,  hurried  on,  without  consulting  the  pope  on  the 
minor  details.  Clement  endeavored,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
remedy  these  errors.  He  saw  that  it  was  a  great  mistake  to 
assert  that  the  Templars  had  been  long  addicted  to  such  prac- 
tices ;  that  no  one  would  believe  a  body  of  men  who  had 
submitted  to  all  privations,  encountered  all  dangers,  and  un- 
dergone every  sort  of  death  in  the  assertion  of  the  Christian 
faith,  were  themselves  infidels  and  idolaters ;  that  it  would 
have  been  much  more  politic  to  accuse  them  of  having  devia- 
ted of  late  into  infidelity  ;  and  he  endeavored  skillfully  to  put 
forth  this  view  of  the  case,  and  to  withdraw  attention  from 
the  fact  that  the  order  of  the  Temple  was  actually  charged 
with  having  long  been  the  most  corrupt,  faithless,  heretical, 
and  idolatrous  body  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  of  celebra- 
ting in  full  assembly,  mystejies,  the  abominations  of  which 
exceeded  all  parallel.  Thus,  in  a  letter  to  Edward,  king  of 
England,  and  in  a  bull  to  the  English  bishops,  he  boldly  ad- 
mits the  former  zeal  and  orthodoxy  of  the  Templars,  and  de- 
clares that  the  well-known  history  of  their  sufl^erings  and 
exertions  under  the  cross  in  olden  times  had  prevented  him, 
at  first,  from  behoving  the  reports,  which  had  reached  him 
even  before  his  election,  of  the  apostasy  and  licentiousness  of 
the  order.  Now,  however,  he  commanded  a  strict  examina- 
tion to  be  made  ;  implying  that  the  King  of  France  had  laid 
before  him  proofs  which  had  rempved  every  tloubt  from  his 
mind. 

Some  symptoms  very  soon  appeared  of  the  pope  and  the 
kings,  who  were  leagued  together  for  the  destruction  of  the 
order  of  the  Temple,  quarreling  about  the  division  of  the 
spoil.  Phihp  and  Edward  seized  all  the  property,  estates, 
money,  and  jewels  of  the  Templars ;  and  Clement  became 
alarmed  lest  he  should  not  obtain  his  due.  proportion.  He 
wrote  to  both  sovereigns,  commanding  them  to  place  the  vast 
wealth  of  the  order  at  the  disposition  of  the  Church,  and  hold- 
ing out  a  very  intelligible  threat  of  thwarting  their  proceed- 
ings in  case  of  disobedience.  But  kmgs  can  grasp  tight  as 
well  as  popes ;  and  both  monarchs  answered  in  a  bold  and 
contumacious  manner.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  some 
concessions  were  made  to  the  pontiff,  or  some  promises  given, 
in  order  to  avert  his  inconvenient  opposition  ;  but  avarice  ii*  a 


THE   LAST   DAYS   OF  THE  TEMPLARS.        157 

very  greedy  passion ;  and  the  pope,  though  he  yielded,  was 
not  fully  satisfied ;  for  we  find  him  afterward  asserting,  in  a 
plaintive  tone,  that  he  had  got  a  very  small  share  of  the 
plunder. 

Philip,  as  I  have  shown,  endisavored  to  draw  from  the 
Templars,  or  from  some  of  them»  by  a  promise  of  pardon,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  a  threat  of  death  on  the  other,  such  an 
avowal  of  guilt  as  would  justify  his  iniquity  by  their  weak- 
ness. But  every  man  remained  firm,  till  something  more 
terrible  than  menace  was  employed.  Philip  might  not  wish 
to  destroy  or  to  tear  the  bodies  of  the  Templars,  if  he  could 
attain  his  objects  by  other  measures ;  but  he  was  not  very 
patient ;  and  at  the  end  of  twelve,  or,  as  some  say,  of  only 
six  days,  during  which  he  continued  to  use  threats  and  prom- 
ises, he  gave  them  up  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  Domini- 
cans, who  were  never  known  to  fail  when  any  act  of  mon- 
strous cruelty  was  to  be  performed.  They  had  gone  through 
a  long  apprenticeship  to  the  trade  of  torture,  and  were  perfect 
masters  of  the  craft.  Let  us  now  turn  to  see  how  they  exe- 
cuted their  function  in  this  instance. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS. 

,  The  Temple  House  at  Paris,  whence  had  issued  forth,  like 
a  glorious  stream,  a  host  of  heroes  to  defend  the  Holy  Land, 
was  again  crowded  with  gallant  knights ;  but  they  were  no 
longer  armed  for  the  defense  of  the  sepulcher.  The  sword 
was  no  longer  drawn  for  the  fight.  The  battle-horse  bore 
them  no  more  to  the  cnarge.  Captives  to  their  fellow-Chris- 
tians, in  the  power  of  enemies  more  pitiless  than  the  Saracens, 
they  lay  in  chains,  each  in  his  silent  cell,  loaded  with  base 
accusations,  and  expecting  death.  All  their  immense  posses- 
sions were  gone.  Their  wealth,  the  gift  of  pious  and  admir- 
ing friends,  filled  the  coffers  of  a  tyrant  or  swelled  the  purses 
of  his  minions ;  and  no  one  retained  sufficient  to  pay  even  a 
hired  advocate  to  plead  his  cause  before  the  judges.  The 
grand  master  of  the  Temple  himself  had  not  four  sous  to  buy 
him  bread  ;  and  bread  was  often  wanting,  for  no  sort  of  tor- 
ture was  forgotten. 


158  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

Look  into  that  dark  cell,  where  Ues,  upon  his  miserable 
pallet,  the  form  of  an  old  man,  with  a  long,  white  beard,  and 
floating  locks  as  pure  as  snow.  He  is  an  old  brother  of  the 
order,  of  a  princely  race,  with  the  blood  of  a  long  line  of  no- 
bles flowing  in  his  veins.  Sixty-five  years  have  passed  since 
his  mother  first  held  him  with  pride  and  dehght  in  her  arms. 
Watchful  love  hung  over  his  cradle.  Care  and  thought  fos- 
tered and  instructed  his  youth.  Wealth,  and  honor,  and  dis- 
tinction were  at  his  command.  Every  joy  that  the  world 
could  give  was  his.  But  he  abandoned  all  to  become  a  sol- 
dier of  the  cross ;  and  this  is  his  reward.  Forty-two  years 
ago  he  was  received  into  the  order  of  the  Temple  at  the  city 
of  Tyre ;  and  in  many  a  field  his  blood  has  moistened  the 
sands  of  Palestine.  He  aided  in  storming  Lilion.  He  was 
at  the  attack  upon  Ascalon.  He  was  one  of  the  first  in  Bi- 
san.  He  escaped,  almost  by  a  miracle,  at  the  capture  of  Ces- 
area ;  and  he  held  the  standard  of  the  cross  at  the  Pilgrim's 
Castle.  At  Safitza,  and  the  Castle  of  the  Kurds,  he  displayed 
his  valor ;  and  he  was  one  of  the  few  who,  after  the  walls 
were  thrown  down,  and  the  citadel  a  heap  of  ashes,  marched 
out  of  Beaufort,  lance  in  the  rest,  and  banner  displayed  with 
all  the  pageantry  of  war,  in  presence  of  the  whole  host  of 
Bondocdar,  compelled  to  grant  an  honorable  capitulation  to 
the  unconquerable  valor  of  the  Temple.  In  many  another 
field  he  has  fought,  and  in  the  defense  of  many  another  place 
he  has  aided.  The  banner  of  the  cross  has  never  been  dis- 
graced by  any  one  act  of  a  long  life ;  and  this  is  his  reward. 

They  have  kept  him  without  food  or  drink  lor  eight- and- 
forty  hours  ;  they  are  condemning  the  old  hero  of  the  cross  to 
die  the  death  of  a  wolf.  Lank  hunger  is  upon  him,  gnawing 
his  very  entrails.  He  could  tear  his  own  flesh  with  his  teeth. 
He  has  knocked  and  called  in  vain  at  the  barred  and  bolted 
door  ;  and  now  he  lies  and  gazes  at  it  with  a  haggard  eye, 
listening  as  the  steps  pass  and  repass,  but  they  bring  him  no 
relief.     This  is  one  species  of  torture.* 

In  a  great  haU — where  once  the  knights  of  the  order  were 
wont  to  assemble  upon  solemn  occasions,  to  receive  a  new 
brother,  to  consult  as  to  the  means  of  succoring  the  Holy 
Land,  or  to  judge  a  malefactor — stretched  upon  a  machine 
formed  somewhat  like  a  bed,  but  having  movable  joints  and 

*  "  Others,  in  a  word,  tormented  and  driven  by  the  famine,  with 
which  they  were  opproBsed  in  prison,  or  compelled  in  a  number  of 
other  manners,"  says  the  continuutor  of  William  of  Nangia,  speaking  of 
the  Tomplan»,  imder  the  year  13U7. 


THE  LAST   DAYS   OF  THE  TEMPLARS.        159 

various  wheels  and  windlasses,  lay  a  taU  and  powerful  man 
of  the  middle  age.  His  broad  brow  was  knit  with  a  stem 
and  resolute  frown ;  but  his  eyes  had  the  anguish  of  appre- 
hension in  them  ;  and  his  teeth  were  firm  set,  as  if  to  prevent 
any  sound  escaping  from  his  lips.  His  ankles  and  his  wrists 
were  firmly  fastened  with  cords  to  the  beams  of  the  machine  ; 
and  his  body,  too,  was  fixed  with  a  hoop  of  iron.  By  his  side 
stood  the  grand  inquisitor,  William  of  Paris.  A  number  of 
Dominican  monks  were  around.  Near  at  hand  was  a  surgeon 
with  a  vial  and  a  cup  ;  but  by  the  side  of  the  machine  stood 
two  powerful  men,  in  a  lay  habit,  with  their  arms  bare. 

"  1  exhort  you,  brother,  in  the  name  of  God  and  the  Holy 
Trinity,"  said  the  inquisitor,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  "  to  make 
confession  of  the  truth,  and  save  us  the  necessity  of  using 
means  to  force  it  from  you*" 

"  I  have  said  the  truth,"  replied  the  Templar,  firmly ;  "  and 
take  notice,  every  one,  that  if,  under  your  diabolical  hands,  I 
speak  otherwise  than  I  have  spoken,  I  lie.  These  are  ray 
last  words.     Do  your  worst." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  The  two  strong  men,  bend- 
ing by  the  machine,  lifted  their  eyes,  and  gazed  earnestly  on 
the  face  of  the  inquisitor.  He  spoke  not,  but  made  a  little 
sign,  waving  his  hand  so  slightly  you  could  hardly  perceive  it. 
The  men  applied  their  whole  force,  and  moved  round  the 
winch.  There  was  a  creaking  sound,  as  of  straining  wood. 
The  thick  beams  were  forced  apart.  The  joints  in  the  wood- 
en frame  separated.  The  limbs  of  the  Templar  were  drawn 
slowly  but  forcibly  from  each  other.  You  could  hear  the 
stout  sinews  crack.     There  was  a  deep  groan. 

"  Hold,  hold  !"  said  the  surgeon,  who  had  watched  the  tor- 
tured man's  face.  But  the  inquisitor  made  no  sign.  The 
strong  men  forced  the  wheels  round  ;  and  there  was  a  shriek 
of  direful  agony. 

In  the  wide  chimney  of  the  refectory  there  was  a  great  fire, 
logs  piled  up  and  blazing  high  ;  and  before  it  were  two  screens, 
covered  with  linen  cloth.  The  fire  had  a  cheerful  light,  blaz- 
ing and  flashing  over  the  stone  walls,  and  the  arches  of  the 
windows,  and  the  great  round  columns. 

But  what  is  that  before  the  fire  ?  It  is  the  good  knight 
Bernard  de  Vado,  stretched  out  upon  an  iron  frame,  pinioned 
with  cords,  and  bound  tightly  down,  so  that  his  limbs  can 
have  no  motion.  The  screens  are  so  placed  as  to  cover  his 
face  and  body  from  the  blaze  of  the  fire ;  but  his  naked  feet 
are  extended  to  the  full  heat,  within  a  few  inches  of  the  burn- 


IfiO  DARK  SCEiNES   OF   HISTORY. 

iiig  logs.  What  are  those  incarnate  devils  doing,  in  their 
gowns  of  black  and  white,  those  Dominican  fiends,  bred  to  the 
art  of  torture  1  They  ape  greasing  the  scorched  soles,  to  pre- 
vent the  flesh  from  being  actually  burned  away.  Vain  are 
his  cries,  his  groans,  his  shrieks.  It  is  speech  they  want ;  and 
he  speaks  not.  They  interpose  one  of  the  screens  to  moderate 
the  heat,  and  then  ask  him,  "  Wilt  thou  confess  now  ?" 

He  is  silent :  the  Dominican  moves  his  hand  toward  the 
screen  again. 

"What  must  I  confess?  What  must  I  confess ?"  cries 
the  unhappy  man  ;  and,  with  a  smile,,  the  soft  Dominican  in- 
structs him. 

In  the  interior  of  a  small  cell,  one  of  the  cells  of  the  order, 
and  on  his  own  pallet-bed,  is  seen  another  knight,  with  a 
single  figure  seated  quietly  beside  him.  Is  the  poor  Templar 
sick  ?  It  must  be  so  ;  for  see,  the  kind  Dominican  drops  wa- 
ter from  a  cup  upon  his  mouth.     Now  this  is  charity  indeed  ! 

Under  the  coarse  rug  that  covers  him,  his  body  is  bound 
down  to  the  bed.  He  can  move  neither  hand  nor  foot.  Over 
his  face  is  stretched  a  thick,  wet  cloth,  through  which  he  is 
forced  to  draw  the  breath  of  life  ;  and  ever,  as  the  fearful  heat 
of  his  intense  agony  dries  up  the  moisture,  so  that  he  can 
breathe  more  freely,  the  Dominican  drops  more  water  on  the 
cloth,  and  renders  every  sigh  a  pang.  See  how  convulsively 
his  chest  heaves.  See  how  the  fingers  move  in  the  struggle 
for  air,  now  clinched,  till  the  nails  sink  into  the  palms  of  his 
hands,  now  extended  wide  with  every  sinew  starting  out  like 
a  rope  ;  and  now,  faint  and  ill  defined  stains  of  crimson  begin 
to  mark  the  cloth  over  his  face.  It  is  the  blood  starting  from 
his  eyes  and  nostrils. 

But  let  us  drop  the  curtain  over  the  awful  scene.  There 
were  more  tortures ;  and  others  too  indecent  and  horrible  to 
be  mentioned ;  but  be  ye  sure,  my  friends,  no  torment  was 
spared  that  human  beings  could  inflict  or  sufier.  Revenge 
may  be  more  fiery  and  impetuous  than  any  other  passion. 
The  evils  wrought  by  ambition  may  be  wide-spread  and  de- 
structive ;  but  avarice  is  the  most  coldly  cruel  of  all  the  vices 
which  afflict  mankind.  Thirty-six  Templars  died  under  the 
torture  without  having  uttered  one  word  which  could  crimin; 
ate  their  order.  Many  more  were  crippled  for  life ;  but  it 
would  appear  that  every  one  maintained  the  perfect  innocence 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  Temple,  till  forged  letters  were  shown 
to  them  purporting  to  come  from  the  hand  of  the  grand  mas- 
ter, and  exhorting  them  to  confess  their  guilt.     If  James  do 


THE   LAST   DAYS  OF  THE  TEMPLARS.       161 

Molay  yielded  to  anguish  or  to  fear,  who  should  resist  ?  Sue) 
was  the  argument  which  some  of  the  Templars  probably  usee 
toward  themselves ;  and  seventy  of  the  brethren  confessed, 
under  the  torture,  any  thing  that  was  dictated  to  them. 
Those  who  confessed  were  formally  absolved  ;  but  they  were 
not  yet  set  free ;  and  the  inquisitors  proceeded  throughout 
France,  accompanied  by  lay  commissioners  from  the  king,  and 
in  each  of  the  preceptories  of  the  order  the  system  of  murder 
and  torture  was  renewed. 

These  transactions  were  generally  carried  on  in  secret ;  but 
the  tongue  of  rumor  could  not  be  kept  quiet ;  and  amaze- 
ment, horror,  and  alarm  spread  throughout  Europe.  The 
pope  himself  interfered  with  an  affectation  of  humanity  ;  but 
his  letter  to  the  King  of  France  savors  strongly  of  avarice. 
It  exposes  more  clearly  a  design  to  get  the  whole  property  of 
the  Temple  into  the  hands  of  the  Church  than  a  desire  to 
save  the  Templars. 

Phihp  treated  his  tool  with  very  little  ceremony.  He 
threatened  and  abused  him ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  feared 
impediments,  and  suffered  the  pope  to  take  the  nominal  con- 
duct of  the  trial,  while  he  himself,  in  reality,  directed  the  pro- 
ceedings. A  commission  was  appointed  by  Clement  to  take 
cognizance  of  the  whole  affair  ;  and  now  a  scene  was  enact- 
ed, little  anticipated,  either  by  the  pontiff  or  the  king.  When 
the  knights  of  the  Temple  appeared  before  the  commissioners, 
in  whose  court  greater  publicity  was  assured  to  the  prisoners 
than  in  the  secret  tribunals  of  the  inquisition,  those  from 
whom  confession  had  been  extorted  by  the  torture  revoked  all 
the  admissions  they  had  made,  almost  to  a  man  maintained 
the  entire  irmocence  of  the  order,  and  warned  all  men  that 
if,  at  any  future  time,  mortal  infirmity  should  induce  them  to 
avow  the  guilt  with  which  they  were  charged,  to  look  upon 
such  acknowledgments  as  false. 

They  were  denied  all  counsel  or  aid.  No  advocate  was 
permitted  to  defend  them.  Their  friends  were  terrified  into 
inactivity,  or  punished  for  affording  them  assistance.  The 
grand  master,  who  had  been  confined  at  Corbeil,  was  brought 
before  the  commission  in  November,  1309,  and  with  firm  but 
decent  boldness,  James  de  Molay  maintained  his  own  inno- 
cence, and  the  falsehood  of  all  the  charges  against  the  order. 
He  said  he  was  a  plain,  unlettered  man,  not  instructed  in 
the  law,  but  ready  to  defend  himself  and  his  brethren  against 
the  infamous  accusations  brought  against  them  as  best  he 
might.     He  showed  that  he  had  been  stripped  of  every  thing  ; 


162  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

that  he  was  dependent  even  for  food  upon  charity ;  and  he 
demanded  an  advocate,  undertaking,  if  his  just  request  were 
granted,  to  make  the  innocence  of  the  order  apparent  to  all 
men,  even  to  their  enemies. 

To  his  amazement,  a  paper  was  produced  by  the  commis- 
sioners, purporting  to  be  a  confession  made  by  himself  at 
Chinon,  before  certain  cardinals,  whose  names  were  attached 
as  witnesses.  For  a  moment,  De  Molay  was  speechless  with 
surprise,  making  three  times  the  sign  of  the  cross,  as  if  some 
evil  spirit  had  appeared  before  him.  He  then  vehemently 
and  solemnly  protested  that  the  confession  was  a  forgery,  and 
called  upon  God  to  inflict  on  the  hars  who  had  signed  it  the 
punishment  assigned  by  the  Saracens  to  willful  slanderers. 
"  Their  bellies  they  rip  open,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  their  heads 
they  cut  off." 

Again  and  again  he  protested  the  innocence  of  himself  and 
his  companions,  and  pointed  out  how  completely  the  whole 
public  life  of  the  Templars  gave  the  lie  to  the  charges  against 
them.  He  showed  that  their  churches  bore  every  mark  of 
devotion,  that  no  body  of  men  was  more  famous  lor  alms-giv- 
ing, that  none  had  ever  so  readily  fought  and  bled  in  the  as- 
sertion of  the  Christian  religion  ;  and  he  ended  with  a  simple 
profession  of  faith,  with  which  even  inquisitors  could  find  no 
fault. 

The  commissioners  dared  not  excommunicate  or  put  him  to 
death ;  for  the  pope  had  restricted  them  for  the  time,  in  his 
case,  and  in  the  cases  of  several  of  the  preceptors  of  the  order. 
Nay,  more,  the  firm  attitude  and  the  convincing  defense  made 
by  more  than  five  hundred  of  the  knights  brought  before  the 
commissioners,  seemed  to  move  or  to  shame  the  papal  officers 
into  something  like  mercy.  In  a  written  defense  drawn  up 
on  their  part,  by  one  of  the  brethren,  they  stated  the  horrible 
tortures  to  which  they  had  been  subjected ;  they  declared  that 
many  had  died  under  the  infliction,  that  all  were  injured  ir- 
recoverably in  health,  and  that  many  had  been  driven  mad. 
They  demanded  that  the  jailers  and  executioners  should  be 
examined  as  to  the  dying  moments  of  the  Templars  who  had 

Serished  in  the  prison,  maintaining  that  they  had  every  one 
eclared  the  innocence  of  their  order  when  about  to  appear  in 
the  presence  of  God. 

Philip  saw  that  the  proceedings  were  taking  a  course  un- 
favorable to  his  pur{X)8e8 ;  and  he  hastened  to  withdraw  the 
Templars  from  the  hands  of  the  commissioners,  and  to  erect  a 
new  tribunal.     He  had  lately  thrust  into  the  archbishopri.o 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    THE    TEMPLARS.      163 

of  Sens  a  creature  of  his  own,  much  against  the  views,  it 
would  appear,  of  the  pope  himself;  and  a  provincial  council 
was  held  by  the  archbishop  in  Paris,  over  which  place  his  ec- 
clesiastical jurisdiction  extended.  =*  To  this  council  the  Tem- 
plars were  given  up.  In  vain  they  protested.  In  vain  they 
sought  to  appeal  to  the  pope.  In  vain  they  demanded  protec- 
tion of  the  papal  commissioners.  The  archbishop  was  as  rapid 
and  as  resolute  as  Philip  could  desire.  They  were  dragged 
before  this  iniquitous  tribunal ;  and  every  one,  without  excep- 
tion, who  had  recanted  his  confession,  was  allowed  the  option 
of  renewing  it  or  dying  at  the  stake.  "  All,  however,  without 
excepting  a  single  one,"  says  the  monk  of  St.  Denis,t  "  refused 
to  the  last  to  avow  the  crimes  of  which  they  were  accused,  and 
persisted  with  constancy  and  firmness  in  a  general  denial, 
ceasing  not  to  declare  that  they  were  given  up  to  death  un- 
justly and  without  cause."  %» 

Fifty-nine,  or,  according  to  some,  fifty-four  gallant  knights 
were  led  forth,  in  one  day,  to  the  fields  at  the  back  of  the  nun- 
nery of  St.  Antoine,  where  stakes  had  been  driven  into  the 
ground,  and  fagots  and  charcoal  collected.  The  sight  did 
not  daunt  them,  and  each  was  bound  to  the  stake.  The 
fagots  were  piled  round  them  ;  the  torches  of  the  execution- 
ers lighted  ;  and  they  were  ofiered  pardon  if  they  would  again 
confess.  They  refused  to  a  man,  and  were  burned  to  death 
by  slow  fires,  calling  upon  the  holy  name  of  God  in  the  midst 
of  their  torments. 

In  other  parts  of  France  the  same  horrible  scenes  were 
transacted.  At  Senlis,  nine  were  burned,  and  many  more  in 
other  places.  But  the  grand  master  and  several  other  distin- 
guished men  were  still  detained  in  prison.  The  few  who  had 
made  confession  of  any  part  of  the  charge  were  set  at  liberty. 
Those  who  denied  the  whole  were  condemned  to  perpetual 
imprisonment.  It  is  to  be  remarked  that  many  escaped  by 
acknowledging  an  offense  of  no  very  heinous  kind.  One  of 
the  charges  against  them,  as  I  have  shown,  was  simply  this, 
that  they  believed  the  grand  master  and  the  visitor,  although 
laymen,  could  absolve  them  from  their  sins.  Many  acknowl- 
edged this  belief,  which  was  pronounced  heretical ;  and  the 
confession  was  judged  suf&cient  to  merit  absolution,  though  it 

*  There  is  some  diflBculty  upon  this  point,  for  the  continuator  of  Will- 
iam of  Nangis  says  that  the  council  was  held  by  permission  of  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris ;  but  the  question  is  not  of  sufficient  importance  to  be 
discussed  in  this  place. 

t  A  cotemporary  who  continued  the  chronicle  of  William  of  Nangis. 


364  DARK    SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

would  appear  that  this  simple  acknowledgment  was  used  by 
the  enemies  of  the  order  as  if  it  had  been  an  admission  of  the 
whole  accusation.  Even  this  heretical  belief,  however,  was 
so  explained  by  many  of  the  Templars  as  to  leave  it  no  taint 
of  heresy  at  all,  for  they  stated  that  it  only  implied  that  the 
grand  master  and  visitor  could  absolve  from  offenses  against 
the  order,  but  not  from  offenses  against  God.  All  parties, 
liowever,  were  anxious  to  show  that  many  of  the  Templars 
had  confessed  something,  and  had  adhered  to  their  confession, 
trusting  that,  by  a  very  common  error  of  the  human  mind,  »* 
part  would  be  taken  for  the  whole. 

Five  long  years  and  a  half  James  de  Molay  remained  in 
prison ;  and  his  existence  during  the  greater  part  of  that  period 
is  involved  in  darkness  ;  but  that  he  was  more  than  once  put 
to  the  torture  is  certain.  What  he  did  confess,  or  whether  he 
did  confess  i9  all,  in  the  torments  which  he  suffered,  can  not 
be  told ;  and  it  would  appear  probable  that  the  confession 
which  he  had  already  pronounced  a  forgery  was  that  which 
was  principally  relied  upon  throughout. 

On  the  18th  of  March,  1313,  however,  a  scaffold  was  erect- 
ed in  front  of  Notre  Dame,  and  the  people  of  Paris  were  sum- 
moned by  the  sound  of  trumpet,  to  hear  the  great  officers  of 
the  Temple  confess  the  guilt  of  their  order,  and  justify  the 
proceedings  of  the  king.  Their  confession  was  said  to  have 
been  made  in  the  presence  of  the  Archbishop  of  Sens,  the  Car- 
dinal Archbishop  of  Albano,  and  two  other  cardinal  legates. 

A  multitude  assembled  to  witness  the  extraordinary  cere- 
mony. The  scaffold  was  crowded  with  guards  and  church- 
men ;  and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  the  grand  master,  James  de 
Molay,  the  grand  preceptor  of  the  order,  the  grand  preceptor 
of  Aquitaine,  and  the  visitor  general,  were  brought  forward  to 
the  front  of  the  scaffold  loaded  with  chains.  The  Cardinal 
Bishop  of  Albano  then  proceeded  to  read  aloud  to  the  people 
the  confession  attributed  to  the  Templars,  and  called  upon 
the  four  knights  to  avow  it.  Two  of  them,  the  visitor  gen- 
eral and  the  grand  preceptor  of  Aquitaine,  bowed  the  head 
and  signified  their  assent.  But  the  grand  master  himself  pro- 
claimed aloud  the  falsehood  of  the  confession,  declaring  that 
it  was  a  sin,  both  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man,  to  proclaim  a 
falsehood. 

"  My  guilt  consists,"  he  said,  "  in  having,  under  the  agony 
of  the  torture,  admitted  untruly  horrible  offenses  against  an 
order  which  has  ever  nobly  served  and  defended  Christendom." 

Guy,  the  grand  preceptor,  also  boldly  asserted  the  innocence 


THE    LAST    DAYS    OF    THE    TExMPLARS.      165 

of  the  order,  and  was  going  on  in  vehement  tones,  when  he 
was  interrupted  by  the  ecclesiastics,  and  hurried  away  by  the 
provost  of  Paris  and  his  guard.  They  were  only  delivered  to 
this  officer,  we  arc  assured  by  the  cotemporary  monk  of  St. 
Denis,  to  be  safely  guarded  till  the  prelates  could  deliberate. 
But  Philip  the  Fair  was  not  inclined  to  suffer  any  further 
deliberation ;  and  he  determined,  "  without  speaking  to  the 
clergy,  by  a  prudent  decision,  to  give  up  the  two  Templars  to 
the  flames." 

That  very  evening  two  stakes  were  planted  on  a  small 
island  in  the  Seine,  between  the  royal  gardens  and  the  Church 
of  the  Hermit  Brethren  ;  and,  just  before  nightfall,  James  de 
Molay,  and  Guy,  the  grand  preceptor,  were  carried  thither, 
attached  to  the  stake,  and  a  slow  fire  kindled  round  them. 

"  They  appeared,"  says  the  cotemporary  monk,  "  to  support 
the  anguish  with  so  much  calmness  and  indifference,  that  their 
firmness  and  their  last  denials  were  matter  of  marvel  and 
stupefaction  to  all  the  beholders." 

Thus  perished  the  last  grand  master  of  the  Templars,  a  vic- 
tim to  one  of  the  foulest  conspiracies  that  can  be  found  even 
in  the  aimals  of  princes  and  pontiffs.  The  order  was  extin- 
guished. Its  treasures  had  been  plundered,  much  of  its  prop- 
erty assigned  to  royal  or  to  papal  favorites,  and  the  remnant 
fell  to  the  rival  order  of  the  Hospital,  which  did  not,  however, 
obtain  it  without  gratifying,  by  large  donations,  those  who  had 
obtained  possession  of  it  by  such  barbarous  and  bloody  means. 

We  should  not  be  so  presumptuous  as  to  pronounce  in  any 
case— except  where  we  can  trace  the  distinct  connection  be- 
tween cause  and  effect,  or  where  we  are  warranted  by  the 
Divine  Word — that  very  peculiar  evils  which  we  see  fall 
upon  our  fellow-creatures  are  special  punishments  for  the 
crimes  which  we  believe  them  to  have  committed.  It  is, 
nevertheless,  a  fact  which  has  been  considered  well  worthy  of 
remark  by  historians,  that  not  one  of  all  those  who  took  a 
principal  part  in  the  barbarous  cruelties  exercised  upon  the 
Templars  escaped  an  early  and  miserable  end. 

Philip  the  Fair,  king  of  France,  died  in  the  year  1314,  in 
the  forty-fifth  year  of  his  age,  of  a  lingering  disease  unknown 
to  any  of  the  physicians  of  the  time,  and  his  last  hours  were 
embittered  by  the  revolt  of  his  subjects,  the  treason  of  his  nobles, 
the  failure  of  his  measures,  and  the  domestic  misery  of  his 
children.  One  of  the  last  acts  of  his  reign  was  the  flaying 
alive  of  two  knights,  Walter  and  Philip  d' Aunay,  for  adultery 
committed  with  his  two  daughters-in-law.    His  armies  retired 


166  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

unsuccessful  from  Flanders,  and  his  people  were  in  insurrection 
in  many  parts  of  his  dominions.  He  died  one  year  eight 
months  and  eleven  days  after  James  de  Molay. 

Bertrand  de  Got  survived  the  grand  master  even  a  shorter 
time.  After  a  troublous  and  bloody, pontificate  of  less  than 
nine  years,  during  which  he  had  been  constantly  obliged  to 
humble  the  tiara  to  the  will  of  the  King  of  France,  through- 
out which  his  sole  aim  had  been  to  amass  treasure  which  he 
could  not  enjoy,  and  to  perpetuate  enjoyments  disgraceful  to 
his  age,  his  profession,  and  his  office,  he  was  suddenly  attack- 
ed with  illness  at  Avignon,  in  the  midst  of  the  festivities  of 
Easter,  and  was  swept  away  by  death,  on  the  twentieth  of 
April,  1314,  one  year  and  one  month  after  the  consummation 
of  the  ruin  of  the  Templars.  His  body  was  carried  to  Car- 
pentras,  where  a  number  of  the  cardinals  had  assembled  ;  but 
while  the  corpse  of  the  infamous  prelate  lay  in  the  church, 
furious  dissensions  arose  regarding  the  choice  of  a  successor, 
and  the  palace  and  town  were  fired,  it  is  said,  by  his  own 
nephew.  The  palace  and  the  church  were  burned  ;  the  body 
of  Clement  was  partially  consumed  by  the  flames ;  and  his 
ill-gotten  treasures  were  pillaged  and  squandered  by  brigands 
and  relations. 

Edward  the  Second  was  deposed  by  a  son  and  a  wife,  and 
died  or  was  murdered  in  prison  ;  and  Enguerand  de  Marigny, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  prompted  and  conducted  most  of  the 
iniquitous  acts  of  Philip  the  Fair,  and  who  had,  in  the  words 
of  the  monk  of  St.  Dennis,  "  become  more,  so  to  say,  than 
Mayor  of  the  Palace,"  was  hanged,  in  1315,  upon  the  gibbet 
of  the  common  robbers. 

Thus  perished  the  order  of  the  Temple  ;  and  thus  perished 
those  who  had  persecuted  it. 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  167 


THE   ALBIGENSES. 


FRANCE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


The  abominations  and  the  tyranny  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
the  horrible  vices  of  the  clergy,  and  the  dissensions  which  ex- 
isted between  them  and  the  monastic  orders,  had  roused  in- 
dignation in  the  minds  of  many  long  before  the  commence- 
ment of  the  thirteenth  century.  Sometimes  this  indignation 
was  salutary,  sometimes  the  reverse.  It  has  been  wisely  ob- 
served, that  "  often  the  worst  evil  of  bad  government  is  not  in 
its  action,  but  its  counteraction."  The  same  is  the  case  with 
every  evil  springing  from  the  corruption  of  institutions.  Men 
always  do  more  than  redress. 

The  wealth,  power,  and  influence  of  the  clergy  excited  envy. 
Their  interference  in  many  secular  affairs  irritated ;  their  ex- 
actions alarmed  ;  their  superstitions  offended  ;  and  their  vices 
disgusted.  Many  wise  and  good  men,  perceiving  the  errors 
of  the  ministers,  but  not  the  flaws  in  the  institution,  severely 
criticised  the  lives  and  doctrines  of  bishops,  priests,  and  cardi- 
nals, without  attacking  the  Church.  Others,  more  bold,  went 
further  still,  and  assailed  the  whole  system  which  produced 
and  sheltered  such  men  and  such  conduct.  Others,  more  fool- 
ish, attacked  the  religion  itself  which  these  men  professed  to 
teach  and  yet  kept  in  darkness.  They  struck  at  the  Savior 
himself,  because  he  was  presented  to  them  in  disguise.  Few 
had  the  means  of  judging  of  religion  by  itself,  because  it  was 
so  overlaid  with  superstitions  that  they  could  not  distinguish 
it.  Few  had  the  knowledge  requisite ;  and  it  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  wondered  at  that  heresies  arose  amid  fruitless  at- 
tempts at  reformation,  and  that  in  casting  off'  foul  superstition 
many  cast  off"  pure  faith. 

In  the  hilly  districts  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenean 
Mountains,  on  those  mountains  themselves,  and  in  the  valleys 
which  intersect  them,  arose,  at  the  end  of  the  twelfth  and  the 


1«8  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  a  sect,  called  Albigenses, 
from  the  name  of  a  small  town  in  higher  Languedoc,  where 
some  of  their  principal  convocations  were  held,  and  whence 
many  of  their  doctrines  spread  to  the  surrounding  country. 
There  would  seem  but  little  doubt  that  the  schism  originated 
m  disgust  at  the  superstitions  and  vices  of  the  Roman  Church, 
and  that  the  doctrines  of  the  first  teachers  of  the  sect  were 
pure  and  scriptural ;  but  there  would  appear  as  Httle  doubt 
that,  after  a  time,  some  few  of  the  members  of  a  body,  which 
became  large,  were  tainted  by  the  Manichsean  heresy.  The 
question  is  a  difficult  one,  as  to  how  far  these  errors  had  gone ; 
for  religious  fanaticism,  party  zeal,  personal  ambition,  gross 
avarice,  virulent  revenge,  and  almost  every  evil  passion  of 
human  nature,  were  called  into  action  during  the  course  of  a 
long  war  ;  and  every  one  brought  its  portion  of  falsehood  to 
blacken  and  obscure  the  page  of  history. 

The  writers  who  have  advocated  the  cause  of  the  Albi- 
genses, represent  them  as  a  perfectly  pure  and  highly  rehgious 
body  of  men.  Those  who  have  written  against  them,  and  it 
is  from  them,  let  us  remark,  that  our  principal  accounts  are 
derived,  attribute  to  them  every  crime  and^every  error  that 
can  disgrace  humanity.  The  most  moderate,  perhaps,  in  his 
statements  is  William  of  Nangis,  the  monk  of  St.  Denis,  who 
accuses  them  of  rejecting  the  supremacy  and  the  decisions  of 
the  Church  of  Rome,  avoiding  all  bodies  of  Christians  in 
communion  with  that  Church,  denying  or  perverting  the  arti- 
cles of  faith,  blaspheming  against  all  religion,  all  worship,  and 
all  religious  order,  and  against  the  piety  of  the  Catholic  Church, 
condemning  all  the  human  race  except  themselves  and  their 
conventicles,  and  turning  the  Church  of  the  Catholics  into 
ridicule.  Through  this  charge  we  may,  perhaps,  see  the  spir- 
it of  the  Roman  Catholic  monk,  exaggerating  the  offenses  of 
those  who  rejected  the  errors  and  superstitions  of  the  Church 
of  Rome.  But  others  go  much  further ;  and  the  fiery  Peter 
of  Vaulx  Cernay  declares  that  the  heretics  of  the  higher  Lan- 
guedoc acknowledged  two  Gods,  the  benevolent  and  the  ma- 
levolent deity,  that  they  attributed  tlie  Old  Testament  to  the 
second,  and  rejected  it  accordingly.  Many  other  en-ors  of  the 
same  kind  he  cliargcs  against  the  Albigenses ;  but  he  suflers 
to  appear  that  the  principal  points  of  opposition  to  the  Church 
of  Rome,  put  forth  by  those  whom  he  calls  heretics,  were  the 
dogmas  of  that  Church  regarding  transubstantiation,  baptism, 
and  the  worship  of  images ;  and  he  clearly  shows  that  there 
were  varioug  different  sects  among  this  people,  some  of  whom 


THE   ALBIGENSE8.  1G9 

greatly  exaggerated  the  doctrines  maintained  by  others.    Many 

of  his  accusations  are  so  absurd  as  to  be  incredible.  n 

The  papal  throne,  at  the  time  when  attention  was  first  ^ 
called  to  the  opinions  of  the  Albigenses,  was  occupied  by  In- 
nocent III.,  a  man  of  considerable  ability,  but  violent,  unre- 
lenting, and  of  unconquerable  resolution.  The  King  of  France 
was  the  well-known  Philip  II.,  called  Augustus  ;  and  the 
territories  principally  pervaded  by  the  doctrines  of  the  Albi- 
genses were  in  the  possession  of  various  princely  nobles,  nomi- 
nally vassals  of  the  crown  of  France,  but  almost  independent 
of  that  crown,  the  principal  of  whom  was  Raymond  VI., 
count  of  Toulouse,  nearly  related  to  the  King  of  France,  who 
undoubtedly  coveted  his  territories,  or  at  least  desired  a  more 
complete  and  perfect  domination  therein.  The  Viscount  of 
Beziers  and  the  Count  of  Foix  also  deserve  notice,  both  from 
the  extent  of  their  possessions  and  the  part  they  acted  in  the 
w^ar  which  followed.  The  Count  of  Toulouse  had  married, 
in  the  first  instance,  Beatrice,  sister  of  the  Viscount  of  Be- 
ziers ;*  secondly,  a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Cyprus  ;  thirdly, 
Joan,  queen  of  Sicily,  sister  of  Richard  CoGur-de-Leon.  He 
was  thus  connected  by  marriage  both  with  the  Plantagenet 
monarchs  of  England,  and  with  Otho,  emperor  of  Germany, 
his  wife's  nephew,  as  he  was  also  by  birth  with  Philip  Au- 
gustus, by  his  mother  Constance,  daughter  of  Louis  the  Fat. 
Joan  of  Sicily  died  in  11 99,  a  very  short  time  after  her  brother 
Richard ;  and  Raymond,  in  the  following  year,  entered  into 
a  fourth  marriage  with  Eleanor,  sister  of  Peter,  king  of  Ar- 
agon,  another  royal  alliance  which  was  highly  serviceable  to 
him  in  the  end. 

Whether  the  Count  of  Toulouse  had  really  embraced  the 
doctrines  of  the  Albigenses  or  not,  certain  it  is  that  he  showed 
them  favor,  and  gave  them  protection  ;  but  this  in  itself  was 
a  crime  in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  The  Arian 
heresy  had  always  found  favor  in  the  territories  of  the  Count 
of  Toulouse  ;  and  it  would  seem  that  the  conduct  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  bishops  of  his  capital  city  had  not  done  much 
to  check  the  course  of  error ;  for  Raymond  of  Rabastens, 
bishop  in  1201,  was  notorious  for  simony  and  other  vices,  for 
which,  in  the  end,  he  was  condemned  and  deposed. 

After  a  long  series  of  disputes  with  Philip  Augustus,  after 
having  placed  the  whole  of  France  under  interdict,  and  forced 

*  He  is  said  to  have  been  previously  married  to  Ermesiuda  de  Pelet, 
but  of  this  fact  I  am  not  quite  sure,  nor  do  I  find  any  record  of  this 
lady's  fate. 

H 


170  DARK  SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

even  its  great  aiid  politic  monarch  to  bow  before  tlie  power  oi 
the  Church,  Innocent  III.  turned  his  attention  to  the  heresy 
of  Languedoc,  and  at  different  times  sent  many  distinguished 
churchmen  to  endeavor,  by  milder  means  than  might  have 
been  expected  from  his  character,  to  bring  the  people  back  to 
the  bosom  of  the  Romish  Church.  The  chief  of  these  mis- 
sionaries, it  would  appear,  was  Arnaud,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  who 
set  out  from  Rome  accompanied  by  several  other  monks  and 
clergymen,  among  whom  was  Peter  of  Castelnau,  also  a  Ber- 
nardino monk  of  Citeaux,  whom  we  find  distinguished  with 
the  title  of  legate,  as  well  as  Arnaud  himself  and  the  brother 
Ralph,  a  third  monk  of  the  same  order. 

It  would  appear  that  the  preaching  of  these  reverend  fa- 
thers was  very  nearly  in  vain ;  for  though  we  find  that  they 
disputed  in  many  places  with  the  leaders  of  the  sect,  we  are 
assured  that  they  had  done  little  or  nothing  for  the  conversion 
of  the  Albigenses  previous  to  the  year  1206.  In  that  year, 
however,  two  new  and  zealous  preachers  were  added  to  their 
number.  Diego  Azebes,  bishop  of  Osma,  or  Uxama,  in  Old 
Castile,  entertained  the  desire  of  resigning  his  bishopric,  and 
proceeding  to  the  Holy  Land  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  in- 
fidel. He  accordingly  set  out  for  Rome,  to  lay  his  miter  at 
the  feet  of  the  pope.  But  Innocent  III.  would  not  accede  to 
his  wishes,  and,  telhng  him  that  his  services  were  still  want- 
ed at  his  post,  sent  him  back  to  his  diocese.  As  he  returned 
from  Rome,  he  met,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Montpellier,  the 
Abbot  of  Citeaux  and  his  two  companions,  who,  disgusted 
with  their  want  of  success,  were  about  to  give  up  their  mission. 

"Wherever  they  had  attempted  to  preach,"  says  Peter  of 
Vaubc  Cernay,  "  the  heretics  had  objected  to  them  the  very 
wicked  conduct  of  the  clergy,  adding,  that  if  they  would  not 
mend  their  manners,  they  ought  to  abstain  from  preaching ;" 
a  curious  admission  from  so  furious  a  Romanist.  In  this  con- 
versation with  the  Bishop  of  Osma  upon  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  placed,  that  prelate  suggested  to  the  leg- 
ates a  new  line  of  conduct.  He  proposed  that  they  should 
go  among  the  Albigenses  in  a  more  modest  and  humble  guise, 
that  they  should  dismiss  their  numerous  train  and  splendid 
equipage,  and  on  foot,  in  all  humility,  teach  the  Word  of  God 
in  the  apostolic  manner.  The  legates,  it  would  seem,  hesi- 
tated, alleging  that  this  was  a  novelty  which  they  could  not 
undertake,  unless  somebody  of  greater  dignity  set  the  exam- 
ple. The  good  Bishop  of  Osma  at  once  offered  to  do  so  ;  and 
sending  the  whole  of  his  train  into  Spain,  he  set  out  upon  his. 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  171 

mission  with  only  one  companion,  a  Spanish  recluse  of  the 
name  of  Dominic,  a  gentleman  of  noble  and  ancient  family  in 
the  diocese  of  Osma,  who  had  been  his  faithful  companion*  in 
many  previous  journeys.  It  was  now  about  the  middle  of  the 
year  1206,  and,  accompanied  by  the  two  legates,  Pierre  de 
Castelnau  and  brother  Ralph  of  Citeaux,  the  bishop  and  his 
Spanish  companion,  afterward  the  famous  St.  Dommic,  went 
on  to  Montpellier,  while  the  abbot  returned  to  his  abbey,  in 
the  marshes  near  the  town  of  Nuits,  in  order  to  hold  a  gen- 
eral chapter  of  the  order. 

I  need  not  trace  the  proceedings  of  these  zealous  men,  who 
went  from  castle  to  castle  and  town  to  town,  preaching  to  the 
Albigenses,  and  disputing  publicly  with  their  teachers.  Suf-- 
fice  it  to  say,  that,  notwithstanding  the  assertions  of  some  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  chroniclers,  they  seem  to  have  met  with 
very  little  success.!  At  the  toWn  of  Beziers,  however,  the 
Bishop  of  Osma  found  it  necessary  to  advise  Peter  of  Castel- 
nau to  leave  him  for  a  time,  as  it  would  appear  that  legate's 
violence  had  greatly  irritated  the  people  of  the  place,  and  his 
life  was  in  danger.  Although  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  few 
men  ever  were  commissioned  to  convert  heretics  who  had  a 
stronger  inclination  to  use  the  most  vigorous  measures  against 
them  than  St.  Dominic  himself,  it  would  seem  that  either  the 
authority  and  example  of  the  Bishop  of  Osma  acted  as  a  re- 
straint upon  the  virulence  of  the  saint,  or  that  Peter  of  Castel- 
nau greatly  exceeded  the  latter  in  energy ;  for  we  find  that, 
in  the  year  1207,  before  a  recourse  to  arms,  fire,  or  torture 
had  been  thought  of  by  others,  he  entertained  the  design  of 
extirpating  the  heretics  of  the  Narbonnoise,  and  sought  the 
aid  of  the  nobles  of  the  country  in  executing  his  purpose.  He 
was  opposed  by  the  unfortunate  Count  of  Toulouse,  who  was 
not  inclined  to  see  his  subjects  slaughtered  for  their  opinions ; 
and  the  insolent  monk  lost  all  sense  of  decency  and  modera 
tion,  abused  the  prince  in  terms  the  most  outrageous,  and  pro- 
ceeded formally  to  excommunicate  him,  because  he  would  not 
make  peace,  on  terms  dictated  to  him,  with  men  who  had 
shown  themselves  his  inveterate  enemies,  and  who  were  now 


*  Echard.     Trivet. 

t  The  Roman  Catholic  chroniclers  contradict  themselves  continually. 
Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay  declares,  in  one  part  of  his  history,  that  the  leg 
ates  converted  all  the  people  but  a  few  at  Carmaing,  confounded  the 
heretic  teachers  in  half  a  dozen  places,  brought  over  all  the  lower  or- 
ders at  Pamiers ;  and  then,  a  little  further  on,  he  admits  that  all  their 
labors  were  of  slender  or  no  utility 


172  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

leagued  with  the  legate  for  the  extermiaatiou  of  the  Wal- 
denses. 

The  temporary  loss  of  the  fier}^  assistance  of  Pierre  de  Cas- 
tehiau  was  more  than  compensated  to  the  Bishop  of  Osma  and 
his  two  companions,  Ralph  and  Dominic,  by  the  arrival  in 
Upper  Languedoc  of  Arnaiid,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  and  twelve 
other  Bernardine  abbots,  who  spread  themselves  over  the  coun- 
try, preaching  and  disputing  with  all  their  might.  Tlie  bish- 
op then  retired  for  a  time  to  his  diocese  in  Castile,  mtending 
to  return  in  the  following  spring  to  the  field  of  his  labors  ;  but 
he  was  seized  with  illness  in  February,  1208,  and  died  in 
Spain.  The  legate  Pwalph  had  preceded  him  to  the  tomb ; 
twelve  of  the  abbots  returned  to  their  monasteries  at  the  end 
of  three  months.,  ajid  only  one  remained,  namely,  the  Abbot 
^  of  Vaulx  Cernay. 


St.  Dominic,  on  the  departure  of  the  Bishop  of  Osma,  be- 
took himself  to  the  small  town  of  Fanjaux,  founded  the  Ab- 
bey of  Prouille  toward  the  end  of  the  year  1207,  and  insti- 
tuted the  order  of  the  preaching  Friars,  known  as  Dominicans 
or  Jacobins. 

Peter  of  Castelnau,  in  the  mean  time,  after  having  visited 
his  colleagues  at  Montreal,  returned  to  the  banks  of  the  Rhone, 
where  he  spent  some  months  in  endeavoring  to  convert  the 
Waidenses,  and  in  thundering  forth  denunciations  against  the 
Count  of  Toulouse.  But  that  prince  at  length  summoned  the 
Abbot  of  Citeaux  and  Peter  of  Castelnau  to  confer  with  him 
at  the  town  of  St.  Giles,  with  the  evident  intention  of  seeking 
some  means  of  accommodation.  It  is  admitted,  even  by  In- 
nocent III.,  in  his  famous  letter,  that  the  count  at  first  re- 
ceived the  legate  with  reverence  and  courtesy  ;  but  violent 
disputes  (at  least  so  asserts  the  pontilF)  soon  arose  between  the 
prince  and  the  fierce  and  vindictive  monk.  It  is  probable 
that  the  legate's  demands  and  his  manner  were  extravagant 
and  overbearing ;  and  it  is  certain  that  he  strove  to  exact 
what  Raymond  of  Toulouse  indignantly  refused  to  grant. 
The  pope  declares  that  the  count,  in  his  lury,  menaced  both 
the  legates  with  death ;  and  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  his 
language  was  threatening  and  violent. 

Aniaud  and  Peter  of  Castelnau  broke  up  the  conference, 
each  party  more  irritated  with  the  other  than  before  the  in- 
terview ;  and,  on  the  following  day,  Peter  of  Castelnau  was 
killed  by  a  gentleman  attached  to  the  Count  of  Toulouse. 

Nothing  can  be  more  diflerent  than  the  history  of  this  mur- 
der as  told  by  Iimocent,  and  the  account  of  the  anonymous 


THE    ALBI  GENS  ES.  173 

monk  who  comixeed  the  history  of  the  war  of  the  Albigenses, 
published  by  Don  Vaissette.  The  pope,  who  rarely  scrupled 
to  accuse  the  objects  of  his  wrath  of  all  sorts  of  crimes,  insin- 
uates, though  he  does  not  assert,  that  Raymond  of  Toulouse 
commanded  the  murder  to  be  committed.  The  historian,  on 
the  contrary,  though  strongly  Catholic,  and  opposed  to  the 
Albigenses,  tells,  with  apparent  simplicity  and  good  faith,  a 
very  different  story.     His  account  is  as  foUoAvs  : 

"  When  the  legate  had  sojourned  certain  days  at  St.  Giles, 
it  happened  that  Peter  of  Castelnau,  above  named,  had  some 
words  and  dispute  npon  the  subject  of  the  said  heresy  with  a 
gentleman  of  Count  Raymond's  ;  and  the  dispute  went  so  far 
that,  in  the  end,  the  said  gentleman,  the  servant  of  Count 
Raymond,  ran  Peter  of  Castelnau  through  the  body  with  a 
sword,  and  killed  him,  and  made  him  die,  which  event  and 
murder  was  cause  of  a  great  evil,  as  we  will  tell  hereafter. 
Peter  of  Castelnau  was  buried  at  the  cemetery  of  St.  Giles  ; 
and  the  legate,  as  well  as  all  his  company,  was  very  much 
grieved  and  enraged  at  this  murder  and  homicide.  However, 
history  tells  us  that,  when  the  gentleman  had  committed  the 
said  murder,  he  fled  to  Beaucaire,  to  his  friends  and  relations  ; 
for  if  Count  Raymond  could  have  got  him,  he  would  have 
made  of  him  such  an  example  of  justice  and  punishment  that 
the  legate  would  have  been  content ;  for  the  said  Count  Ray- 
raiond  was  so  enraged  and  grieved  at  this  murder  having  been 
committed  by  a  man  of  his,  that  never  was  he  so  enraged  at 
any  thing  in  the  world." 

Every  action  of  Raymond,  however,  was  misinterpreted  by 
the  legates  and  by  the  pope ;  and  the  extravagance  of  the 
charges  which  they  bring  against  him,  as  well  as  the  violence 
of  the  language  used,  and  the  evident  concealments  practiced 
by  the  principal  Roman  Catholic  historian  of  the  crusade, 
Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay,  throw  great  suspicion  upon  all  their 
statements.  It  was  from  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  and  the  monks 
who  accompanied  him,  that  Innocent  received  a  partial  and 
distorted  account  of  the  death  of  Peter  of  Castelnau  ;  and  the 
violent  and  domineering  pontiff^,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  reign, 
fulminated  no  less  than  four  interdicts  against  four  diflferent 
countries,  at  once  had  recourse  to  the  most  violent  measures, 
and,  aflecting  to  look  upon  the  heretics  of  Albi  as  infinitely 
worse  than  the  Mohammedans  of  Spain  and  Syria,  he  ordered 
a  crusade  to  be  preached  against  the  unfortunate  people  of  the 
Toulousaine.  Moreover,  boldly  aimouncing  the  horrible  doc- 
trine that  no  faith  is  to  be  kept  with  heretics,  he  declared  the 


174  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

territories  of  the  count  forfeited,  absolved  his  subjects  and  vas- 
sals from  their  oaths  of  fidelity  and  homage,  and  called  upon 
all  who  might  desire  to  enrich  themselves  at  the  expense  of 
a  neighbor  to  rush  into  Languedoc  and  Provence,  and  seize, 
pillage,  and  keep  the  lands  and  lordships  of  Raymond  of  Tou- 
louse. 

This  Christian  prelate  was,  perhaps,  right  in  looking  upon 
the  doctrines  of  the  Albigenses,  not,  indeed,  as  more  opposed  to 
the  Christian  religion,  but  as  more  dangerous  to  the  See  of 
Rome  than  the  tenets  of  the  Koran ;  for  we  find  that  those 
doctrines,  as  stated  by  William  of  Puy-Laurens,  in  describing 
a  dispute  between  the  legates  and  the  heresiarchs,  were  very 
much  the  same  as  those  which  were  put  forth  by  the  Reform- 
ers, who  afterward  shook  the  fabric  of  the  papal  power  to  its 
foundation.  It  appears  that,  in  the  dispute  at  St.  Real,  Ar- 
nold of  Otho,  one  of  the  teachers  of  the  Albigenses,  called  the 
Romish  Church  and  its  doctrines  "  the  church  of  the  devil 
and  the  doctrines  of  demons ;"  proclaimed  aloud  that  it  was 
that  Babylon  mentioned  in  the  Apocalypse  as  the  mother  of 
fornications  and  abominations ;  asserted  that  its  ordination  was 
neither  good  nor  holy,  nor  established  by  the  Lord  Jesus  ;  and 
contended  that  neither  Christ  nor  the  apostles  had  ever  insti- 
tuted the  mass,  as  it  was  used  in  the  Romish  Church. 

These  were  the  doctrines  publicly  put  forth  by  the  ministers 
of  the  Albigenses,  according  to  one  of  the  least  partial  of  the 
Romish  historians ;  but,  even  from  this  statement,  it  can  be 
easily  understood  why  Innocent  should  determine  upon  exterm- 
inating so  dangerous  a  sect  by  fire  and  sword. 

No  sooner  had  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  received  the  letters  of 
the  pope,  than  he  commenced  the  predication  of  the  crusade, 
and  summoned  a  great  comicil  to  assemble  at  Aubenas,  in  the 
Vivarais.  To  all  who  took  the  cross  was  held  out  the  induce- 
ment of  complete  absolution  "  for  all  their  sins,  from  the  day  of 
their  birth  to  the  day  of  their  death."  To  this  was  joined  the 
expectation  of  pillage  ;  and  as  the  people  of  Europe  were 
somewhat  fond  of  plunder,  and  not  disinclined  to  sin,  immense 
numbers  took  the  cross,  and  sot  out  well-armed  for  an  expedi- 
tion which  promised  greater  advantages  and  less  dangers  than 
a  journey  to  the  Holy  Land. 

Each  man  engaged  himself  for  forty  days  ;  and  though 
many  stayed  longer,  many  thought  they  had  done  enough 
when  they  had  fulfilled  the  letter  of  the  bond. 

Communications  had  taken  place  between  the  holy  see  and 
the  King  of  France  ;  and  Innocent  exhorted  Philip  either  to 


THE    ALDIGENSES.  175 

march  attains!  the  heretics  himself,  or  to  send  his  son.  The 
l^Vcnoh  monarch,  however,  did  not  feel  himself  at  all  disposed 
to  second  the  views  of  a  fierce  pontiff' who  had  thwarted  and 
humiliated  him,  and  refused  to  take  part  in  the  war.  He  per- 
mitted, however,  such  of  his  subjects  as  thought  fit  to  assume 
the  cross  to  do  so,  and  every  day  swelled  the  army  of  the  cru- 
saders. To  distinguish  Chese  fanatics  from  those  who  were 
engaged  to  fight  in  the  Holy  Land,  the  cross  was  placed  on 
the  breast  instead  of  on  the  shoulder ;  and  a  general  rendez- 
vous was  given  at  Lyons,  w^hence  they  were  to  march  through 
Provence,  and  sweep  the  whole  country  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyren- 
ees, from  the  Rhone  to  the  Garonne, 

Alarmed  at  these  immense  preparations,  Raymond  of  Tou- 
louse, who  had  never  professed  himself  of  the  sect  of  Albi- 
genses,  set  out  with  his  nephew,  the  Count  of  Beziers,  and  a 
large  and  formidable  train,  to  present  himself  before  the  coun- 
cil at  Aubenas,  and  claim  to  be  heard  in  his  own  justification. 
Either  from  fear,  policy,  or  conviction,  he  seems  to  have  beeii 
sincerely  disposed  to  recoftcile  himself  with  the  Church  of 
Rome,  and  even  to  put  down  the  sect  of  heretics  or  Reformers 
in  his  territories ;  but  the  monks  were  not  at  all  disposed  to 
give  him  an  opportunity  of  doing  so.  The  council  listened 
coldly  to  his  remonstrance  ;  and,  in  reply  to  his  demand,  that 
his  conduct  should  be  investigated,  and  his  guilt  or  innocence 
established  before  any  violent  proceedings  were  taken  against 
him,  the  legate  refused  to  institute  any  inquiry,  and  referred 
him  to  Rome. 

Thus  rejected,  the  count  and  his  nephew  retired  from  the 
council,  and  set  out  for  the  town  of  Aries.  As  they  went,  they 
consulted  what  was  to  be  done.  The  fiery  Viscount  of  Beziers 
proposed  to  oppose  force  by  force,  seeing  that  they  had  nothing 
to  hope  from  submission ;  but  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  aware 
of  the  overwhelming  number  of  the  crusaders,  determined  to 
exhaust  every  means  of  conciliation  before  he  had  recourse  to 
arms.  A  violent  dispute  ensued  betw^een  uncle  and  nephew ; 
aad  the  latter,  separating  himself  from  the  count,  began  the 
war  by  ravaging  the  territories  of  his  relation. 

In  the  mean  time  Raymond  reached  Aries,  and  summoned 
to  council  four  of  his  personal  friends,  the  Archbishop  of  Auch, 
the  Prior  of  the  Hospital,  the  Abbot  of  Condom,  and  the  Lord 
of  Rabestans.  At  his  earnest  entreaty,  they  agreed  to  set  out 
for  Rome  and  negotiate  his  reconciUation  with  the  pope,  while 
he  remained  at  Aries,  waiting  impatiently  for  their  return. 
Their  mission  was  successful,  though  the  conditions  imposed 


176  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

upon  the  count  were  very  hard.  Innocent  a^eed,  by  treaty, 
to  receive  Raymond  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  as  soon  as 
Ke  should  have  proved  his  innocence  of  the  murder  of  Peter  of 
Castehiau,  upon  the  condition  that  he  should,  in  the  mean 
time,  as  security,  give  up  to  the  Church  seven  of  his  largest 
and  strongest  castles.  To  these  terms  the  count's  envoys 
agreed :  the  treaty  was  drawn  up  and  signed  ;  an  act  of  ab- 
solution was  expedited  by  the  holy  see ;  and  the  envoys  re- 
turned to  the  count,  accompanied  by  two  commissioners  on  the 
part  of  the  pope,  named  Milo  and  Theodise,  instructed  to  re- 
ceive and  hold  the  castles  which  were  to  be  surrendered. 

Hard  as  these  terms  were,  Raymond  received  the  envoys 
joyfully,  and  agreed  to  fulfill  the  conditions  ;  but,  if  we  are  to 
l)eUeve  even  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay,  the  legate  Milo  had  se- 
cret and  deceitful  instructions  from  the  pope  to  act  entirely 
under  the  directions  of  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  against  whom 
Raymond  had  already  brought  a  charge  of  injustice  and  Yna- 
levolence ;  and,  besides  the  seven  castles,  the  surrender  of 
which  had  been  agreed  upon,  Milo  and  Theodise,  by  the  ad- 
vice of  the  abbot  and  others,  now  demanded  that  the  consuls 
of  the  towns  of  Nismes,  Avignon,  and  St.  Giles  should  swear 
that,  if  their  lord  the  count  refused  to  perform  any  of  the  com- 
mands of  the  legate,  they  would  hold  themselves  free  from 
their  oath  of  homage  toward  him. 

To  this,  also,  the  count  consented ;  and  the  castles  were 
given  up  into  the  hands  of  Theodise.  The  next  act  was,  the 
public  penance  and  reconciliation  of  the  count  with  the  Church. 
This  was  performed,  apparently,  in  the  beginning  of  the  year 
1209,  in  the  great  Church  of  St.  Giles ;  and  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  before  it  took  place,  Raymond  had  exculpated  him- 
self, to  tl^e  satisfaction  of  the  legate,  from  all  share  in  the 
death  of  Peter  of  Castlenau  ;  for  that  was  the  distinct  condi- 
tion upon  which  the  pope's  promise  of  absolution  had  been 
made.  It  must  be  remembered  that,  before  the  death  of  that 
personage,  Raymond  had  been  excommunicated  for  other  of- 
fenses ;  and,  therefore,  the  public  penance  which  he  perfornjed 
had  naught  to  do  with  the  assassination  of  the  legate,  and  was 
only  intended  for  the  glorification,  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and 
the  abasement  of  a  temporal  prince  beneath  the  sandal  of  the 
monk. 

On  a  day  appointed,  all  the  relics  of  the  Church  of  St.  Giles 
were  brought  out  into  the  porch,  together  with  the  host ;  and 
more  than  twenty  archbishops  and  bishops  assembled  round 
the  legate  at  the  door.     Immediately  after,  the  count  pre- 


i 


THE  ALBIGENSES.  177 

Bented  himself  in  his  shirt,  and  swore  upon  the  relics  and  the 
host  to  submit  entirely  to  the  holy  Roman  see.  The  legate 
then  threw  a  stole  over  the  neck  of  the  count,  and  leading 
him  thereby,  as  with  a  cord,  conducted  him  to  the  grand  altar, 
striking  him  with  a  small  cane,  after  which  he  received  abso- 
lution in  form,  and  was  considered  as  reconciled  to  the  Church, 
although  he  was  certainly  never  forgiven.  His  castles  were 
still  retained  by  the  emissaries  of  the  pope,  although  the  pe- 
riod for  their  restoration  had  arrived  ;  and  it  would  appear 
that  he  was  required  to  join  the  crusade  in  person,  and  lead 
the  armies  of  the  Church  against  the  territories  of  his  nephew. 

Toward  the  end  of  summer  in  the  same  year,  the  crusaders 
assembled  at  Lyons  in  enormous  numbers.  The  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  the  Counts  of  Nevers,  St.  Paul,  Auxerre,  Poitiers, 
Forez,  and  Bar  sur  Seine,  with  a  number  of  bishops  and  arch- 
bishops, and  several  of  the  greatest  nobles  of  France,  appeared 
at  the  rendezvous ;  but,  before  all  the  rest  in  zeal  and  fanati- 
cism, was  Simon,  count  of  Montfort,  F Amauryi  sumamed  the 
Strong.  These  princes  and  prelates  were  followed  by  an 
army,  the  strength  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  estimate,  some 
historians  stating  that  it  numbered  fifty  thousand  fighting 
men,  and  others  making  it  amount  to  five  hundred  thousand. 
Let  it  be  remarked,  however,  that  this  army  varied  contin- 
ually in  numbers,  the- engagement  of  each  man  being  only  for 
forty  days,  and  large  bodies  falling  away  while  other  recruits 
poured  in. 

The  immense  force  collected  soon  began  to  march  on  to- 
ward the  city  of  Valence,  menacing  the  territories  of  the  Vis- 
count de  Beziers.  That  nobleman  now  became  seriously 
alarmed,  and  hastened  to  meet  the  legate  at  Montpellier,  in 
order,  if  possible,  to  avert  the  storm  which  menaced  him. 
The  proud  monk,  however,  who  viewed  this  unhappy  gentle- 
man with  peculiar  ill-will,  rejected  his  submission  with  con- 
tempt ;  and  the  viscount,  driven  to  despair,  retired  to  Beziers, 
and  called  his  friends  and  vassals  to  arras.  They  appeared 
in  considerable  numbers ;  and,  with  hope  renewed,  the  vis- 
count divided  his  forces  into  two  parts  ;  and,  leaving  the  most 
experienced  and  best  armed  of  the  troops  in  Beziers,  he  retired 
with  the  rest  of  his  army  to  Carcassonne.  The  inhabitants 
of  Beziers,  however,  were  highly  indignant  at  his  departure ; 
and  -the  result  proved  that  those  he  left  in  command  were  un- 
worthy of  his  confidence. 

H2 


}78  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    ALBIGENSES. 

The  richest  and  most  beautiful  district  of  France,  perhaps 
of  the  whole  world,  surrounds  the  town  of  Beziers.  Within 
a  short  distance  of  the  sea,  fertilized  by  the  River  Orbe,  with 
a  warm  valley  filled  with  gardens,  vineyards,  and  fields,  fertile 
in  corn  and  in  wine,  and  covered  with  plive-trees  and  mul- 
berries, the  whole  scene  is  Hke  the  Garden  of  Eden,  in  the 
midst  of  which,  on  the  summit  of  a  gentle  hill,  with  the  river 
flowing  at  its  foot,  on  one  side  commanding  a  view  down  the 
bright  valley,  and  on  the  other  catching  a  sight  of  the  distant 
mountains,  from  the  bosom  of  which  the  Orbe  seems  to  pour 
forth,  stands  the  town  of  Beziers,  crowning  the  whole.  Such 
is  Beziers  and  its  district  now  ;  and  such,  or  even  richer,  was 
it  when  the  army  of  the  crusaders,  moved  by  eager  rapacity 
and  fierce  fanaticism,  poured  into  that  beautiful  valley  pre- 
pared to  slaughter  and  destroy. 

The  anonymous  cotemporary  writer  of  the  history  of  the^ 
war,  who  seems  to  have  written  with  great  care  and  much 
impartiality,  declares  that  the  army  of  the  crusade  was  now 
swelled  to  the  number  of  three  hundred  thousand  men  ;  but 
he  explains  this  immense  assemblage,  which  no  other  historian 
does.  While  the  host  was  moving  from  Lyons  and  Montpel- 
lier,  he  says,  another  great  army  was  raised  in  the  West,  near 
Agen,  by  the  Count  of  Auvergne,  with  whom  was  associated 
the  Bishop  of  Bazas  and  the  Archbishop  of  Bordeaux,  with 
two  or  three  other  prelates  and  noblemen.  This  force  com- 
menced its  march  through  Quercy,  in  order  to  join  the  legate 
before  the  attack  on  Beziers,  and  on  the  way  took  two  strong 
places  named  Puy  Laroque  and  Chasseneuil.  The  first  town 
was  found  without  a  garrison,  and  was  immediately  burned 
to  the  ground  by  the  captors.  The  second  had  a  strong  cit- 
adel well  garrisoned  by  Gascons,  who  held  out  resolutely,  and 
in  the  end  marched  out,  by  capitulation,  with  arms  and  bag- 
gage. As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the  lords  and  bishops  en- 
tered the  town  and  commenced  that  course  of  atrocities  which 
rau  through  the  whole  crusade,  burning  every  man  and  woman 
whom  they  suspected  of  heresy. 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  179 

This  duty  of  their  religion  having  been  performed,  they 
marched  on  and  joined  the  army  of  the  legate.  This  was  not 
the  only  re-enforcement,  however,  that  his  host  received  ;  for 
the  Bishop  of  Puy  had  raised  a  still  larger  force,  and  advanced 
with  rapid  marches,  menacing  the  towns  of  Caussade  and  St. 
Antonine.  This  bishop,  however,  loved  money  better  than 
blood ;  and  the  two  heretic  places'  purchased  his  abstinence 
by  a  very  considerable  donation.  The  inhabitants  of  the  town 
of  Villemur  took  fright  at  the  reports  from  Chasseneuil  and 
Laroque,  and  retired  from  their  city  by  moonlight,  as  the  ar- 
mies approached,  setting  fire  to  the  town  in  many  places,  so 
that  it  was  entirely  consumed. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  the  attack  upon  Beziers  was 
intended,  the  bishop  of  that  place,  Renault  of  Montpellier, 
set  out  to  meet  the  legate  and  intercede  for  the  people  of  the 
town.  He  obtained  permission  to  endeavor  to  bring  the  in- 
habitants to  a  treaty  for  the  surrender  of  the  place.  The 
garrison  and  the  citizens  refused  boldly  to  yield  without  re- 
sistance, and  the  bishop  returned  to  the  camp  to  communi- 
cate the  failure  of  his  mission.  The  legate,  on  hearing  their 
resolution,  took  a  very  Christian  oath,  well  suited  to  his  char- 
acter. He  swore  that  he  would  not  leave  one  stone  upon 
another  in  Beziers,  but  would  give  the  town  up  to  fire  and 
sword,  sparing  neither  men,  women,  nor  infants,  and  granting 
quarter  to  none.  The  bishop  then  pointed  out  that  there 
were  many  Catholics  in  the  town  as  well  as  heretics,  and 
asked  how  they  were  to  be  distinguished  in  such  a  terrible 
execution. 

"  Kill  all,"  replied  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux.  "  God  fenows 
his  own." 

The  city  was  immediately  invested  and  the  tents  pitched, 
for  every  one  expected  that  the  siege  would  be  long.  Some 
of  the  garrison,  however,  perceiving  a  knight  ride  vaunting] y 
up  to  the  very  bridge  over  the  Orbe,  issued  forth  to  meet  him, 
and  he  was  hurled,  dead,  into  the  river.  This  brought  on  an 
immediate  assault  of  the  walls.  The  immense  multitude  of 
the  crusaders  overpowered  all  resistance.  Ladders  and  planks 
were  brought  forward ;  the  ditch  was  passed,  the  ramparts 
scaled  ;  and  the  blood-thirsty  multitude  poured  into  the  town. 
"  There  took  place,"  cries  the  historian,  "  the  greatest  massa- 
cre that  ever  was  seen  in  the  whole  world ;  for  they  spared 
neither  old  nor  young,  not  even  sucking  infants.  They  put 
them  all  to  death." 

As  many  of  the  unfortunate  inhabitants  as  were  able  took 


180  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

refuge  in  the  great  Church  of  St.  Nazaire ;  and  the  priests 
promised  to  ring  the  bells  when  the  slaughter  in  the  streets 
had  ceased.  "But  there  came  no  sound  of  a  bell  in  Beziers 
that  day ;  for  neither  priest,  though  in  his  robes,  nor  clerk  was 
left  alive.  All  were  put  to  the  sword ;  not  one  escaped." 
"  The  town  was  pillaged  ;  they  set  fire  to  it  every  where,  so 
that  it  was  devastated  and  burned  as  we  see  it  at  present. 
There  was  left  nothing  living  within  it."  Such  is  the  accounj; 
of  a  steadfast  Cathohc  ;  and  well  might  he  add,  "  It  was  a 
cnjel  vengeance  I"* 

From  the  ruins  of  Beziers,  the  host  of  the  crusade  advanced 
upon  Carcassonne,  into  which  the  young  viscount  had  thrown 
himself,  and  arrived  under  its  walls  on  the  day  of  St.  Mary  Mag- 
dalen. According  to  the  system  of  that  day,  Carcassonne  was 
strongly  fortified ;  the  garrison  was  numerous,  and  composed 
of  veteran  soldiers ;  and  the  people  of  the  place,  strongly  at- 
tached to  their  lord  and  to  the  principles  of  the  Albigenses,  were 
resolute  in  their  resistance.  Many  assaults  were  given  with- 
out success.  The  suburbs  were  taken  and  destroyed ;  and 
yet  no  progress  seemed  to  have  been  made.  Sorties  innumer- 
able taught  the  besieging  force  the  courage  and  determination 
of  their  adversaries ;  and  the  young  viscount  himself  was  ever 
the  first  in  the  field  and  upon  the  walls.  It  was  now  the  end 
of  August,  however ;  the  weather  was  intolerably  hot ;  drought 
soon  began  to  be  felt  in  Carcassonne.  An  epidemic  disease 
broke  out,  but  the  people  declared  that  they  would  sooner 
perish  by  the  terrible  death  of  thirst  than  submit  to  the  piti- 
less legate,  and  for  many  days  the  attack  and  defense  were 
continued  without  much  advantage  on  either  side. 

The  superior  lordship  of  Carcassonne  was,  we  are  assured, 
in  Peter,  king  of  Aragon,  nearly  alHed  to  the  young  viscount. 
That  monarch,  therefore,  hastened,  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the 
siege,  to  interpose  between  the  legate  and  his  relation ;  and, 
announcing  that  he  did  not  intend  to  aid  either  party,  was 
well  received  in  the  camp  of  the  crusaders.     All  that  he  could 

*  I  have  taken  my  account  of  the  storming  of  Bezioi-s  from  tlie  anony- 
mous historian  of  the  wars  of  the  Albigenses.  He  was  evidently  a  co- 
temporary,  as  M.  Guizot  shows,  and  though  not  so  copious  in  his  dates 
aa  some  others,  more  impartial,  more  sincere,  and  in  many  respects 
better  informed.  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay  is  full  of  errors  as  to  thid  part 
of  the  history,  as  well  as  of  concealments  of  truth.  Ho  says  that  Be- 
ziers was  taken  on  the  day  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen,  and  that  the  slaughter 
took  place  in  her  church.  It  was  taken  several  days  before ;  and  there 
never  was  a  church  dedicated  to  her  in  the  town.  The  great  church 
was  that  of  St.  Nazaire,  and  the  other  that  of  St.  Felix.  He  apparently 
confounds  the  capture  of  Beziers  with  the  siege  of  Carcassonne. 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  181 

obtain  from  the  council,  however,  was  an  offer  to  allow  the 
viscount  to  march  out  with  twelve  of  his  companions,  their 
arms  and  baggage,  provided  he  left  the  city  and  its  inhabit- 
ants to  surrender  at  discretion.  This  offer  was  rejected  by 
the  young  noblemen  with  honest  indignation  ;  and  the  king, 
applauding  his  resolution,  left  him  to  make  the  best  defense 
he  could. 

The  assault  was  renewed  without  success  ;  and  the  legate, 
it  would  appear,  then  had  recourse  to  cunning  where  force  had 
failed.  The  succeeding  transactions  are  very  dark,  and  the 
statements  very  different ;  but  I  can  not  ^t  faith  in  the  ac- 
counts of  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay,  whose  insincerity  is  mani- 
fest. He  says  that  a  capitulation  was  entered  into,  by  which 
the  people  were  to  be  allowed  to  issue  forth  stripped  to  the 
shirt,  while  the  viscount  was  to  remain  a  prisoner  in  the  hands 
of  the  crusaders.  By  his  own  accomit,  however,  very  slight 
advantages  had  been  gained  in  the  attack  of  the  town ;  and 
the  statement  of  the  anonymous  historian  of  the  war  is  much 
more  credible.  In  the  narrative  of  the  latter,  it  is  declared 
that  a  treacherous  envoy  was  sent  to  negotiate  with  the  young 
leader,  and  pledged  his  word  to  the  viscount  that,  if  he  would 
visit  the  legate,  he  should  be  permitted  to  return  in  safety. 
No  sooner,  however,  had  Raymond  Roger  presented  himself 
in  the  camp,  than  he  was  arrested ;  and  the  people  of  Car- 
cassonne, finding  that  their  lord  had  been  made  a  prisoner, 
with  many  of  his  best  officers,  escaped  from  the  town  during 
the  night  by  a  subterraneous  passage,  which  led  them  beyond 
the  camp  of  the  besieging  army. 

This  historian  shows  an  intimate  local  knowledge  of  all  the 
places  he  mentions,  which  is  quite  wanting  in  the  writings  of 
both  Vaulx  Cernay  and  Puy  Laurens.  His  style  is  simple 
and  his  impartiality  extraordinary,  considering  his  decided 
condemnation  of  the  tenets  of  Albi  and  his  admiration  for  St. 
Dominic.  There  are  no  miracles,  no  excuses  for  the  excesses 
of  one  party  or  the  other,  and  none  of  that  scandalous  sup- 
pression of  the  truth  which,  in  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay,  is  very 
remarkable,  and  amounts  to  actual  falsehood.  Upon  his  state- 
ments, therefore,  we  may  rely  with  greater  confidence  than 
upon  those  of  any  other  writer  on  these  wars  ;  and  I  entertain 
no  doubt  that  his  account  of  the  fall  of  Carcassonne  is  sub- 
stantially correct. 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  young  Viscount  of  Beziers  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  crusaders,  and  that  he  died  in  prison  not  long 
afterward.    It  was  very  generally  rumored  that  his  death  was 


182  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

violent,  and  a  clear  and  impartial  writer  of  modern  times 
seems  to  think  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact.  The 
historian  whom  I  have  quoted  above,  however,  distinctly  de- 
nies that  such  was  the  case,  though  he  notices  the  rumor,  and 
asserts  that  the  viscount  died  of  dysenteiy,  then  very  preva- 
lent in  the  country. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  question  was  agitated,  which  had  never 
yet  presented  itself  to  the  crusaders.  The  possession  of  Car- 
cassonne and  Beziers,  with  several  smaller  places  which  ha(^ 
surrendered,  gave  the  command  of  the  whole  viscounty  to  the 
leaders  of  the  host.  What  was  to  be  done  with  this  territory, 
comprising  one  of  the  richest  and  most  beautiful  districts  in 
France  ?  The  movable  plunder  in  the  two  cities  had  been 
great ;  but  the  -possession  of  the  viscounty  would  imply  oner- 
ous duties  ;  and  the  legate  and  council  of  the  crusade  offered 
the  territory  to  the  Count  of  Nevers,  and  then  to  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy,  in  vain.  Both  those  princes  were  anxious  to 
return  as  speedily  as  possible  to  their  own  lands ;  and,  on  their 
refusal,  the  viscounty  was  ofi^ered  to  Simon,  count  de  Mont- 
fort,  who  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  the  various  at- 
tacks upon  Carcassonne,  and  had  also  won  honors  in  the  Holy 
Land.  He  was,  indeed,  in  all  respects  a  very  remarkable 
man,  and  sprung  from  a  race,  active,  vigilant,  and  politic, 
which  at  various  times  furnished  many  an  illustrious  name  to 
the  roll  of  fame.  He  was  above  the  ordinary  height  of  men, 
with  a  handsome  and  commanding  countenance,  broad  chest, 
long  arms,  and  powerful  limbs,  combining  the  utmost  strength 
and  agility.  To  the  corporeal  qualities  of  the  knight  he  add- 
ed gifts  of  mind  and  peculiarities  of  character,  which  seemed 
to  point  him  out  for  the  station  he  was  destined  to  fill.  Ho , 
was  firm,  shrewd,  persevering,  dauntless  in  circumstances  of -\ 
danger,  fiery  and  yet  thoughtful  in  battle.  He  was,  more-l 
over,  ambitious,  deceitful,  and  cruel,  full  of  religious  fanaticism,  \ 
and  utterly  unscrupulous  of  the  means  which  he  took  to  ad- 
vance either  his  personal  interests,  or  to  insure  success  to  the 
cause  he  had  espoused. 

Such  was  the  man  to  whofn  the  viscounty  of  Beziers  was 
now  offered.  He  afi^ected,  at  first,  to  decline,  as  the  other  great 
nobles  had  done ;  but  means  were  speedily  found  to  induce 
him  to  withdraw  his  refusal,  though  not,  we  are  assured  by 
Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay,  till  the  legate  had  actually  gone  upon 
his  knees  to  prevail  upon  him  to  accede.  I  do  not  mean  to 
Bay  that  I  believe  this  story  ;  but  it  is  in  character  vnth  the 
general  extravagance  of  that  historian's  statements. 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  183 

The  was  now  greatly  changed  its  aspect.  Its  reHgious 
tinge  was  not,  indeed,  altogether  lost ;  but  the  personal  ambi- 
tion of  Simon  de  Montfort  infused  into  it  a  new  spirit.  It 
may  henceforth  be  looked  upon  as  a  war  for  his  aggrandize- 
ment, in  which  he  fought  the  neighboring  princes  with  the 
arms  of  religious  fanatics,  and  encouraged  in  others  the  super- 
stitious zeal  which  he  himself  felt,  as  much  to  advance  his 
own  interests  as  to  insure  the  triumph  of  the  Church. 

It  is  a  very  common  thing  for  robbers  to  quarrel  about  the 
spoil. 

The  crusading  nobles  could  be  looked  upon  only  as  brigands, 
although  they  bore  a  cross  upon  the  breast.  They  had  at- 
tacked a  nobleman,  again^  whom  no  crime  was  proved. 
They  had  pillaged  his  territories,  taken  his  cities,  and  slaugh- 
tered his  subjects  by  thousands,  without  discrimination  or  in- 
vestigation, and  without  any  lawful  authority.  Disputes  no\v 
arose  among  them ;  and  it  is  clear  that  the  gift — made,  in 
reality,  by  the  legate — of  the  viscounty  of  Beziers  to  the  Count 
de  Montfort,  was  the  immediate  cause  of  these  dissensions. 
The  Count  of  Nevers,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  an  im- 
mense number  of  the  crusading  nobles,  announced  theininten- 
tion  of  immediately  abandoning  the  crusade ;  and  the  dis- 
putes between  Nevers  and  Burgundy  went  so  far,  that  great 
fears  were  entertained  lest  the  two  princes  should  kill  each 
other  in  the  camp.  De  Montfort  and  the  legate,  frightened 
at  the  defection,  labored  earnestly  to  persuade  their  compan- 
ions to  remain,  and  were  successful  with  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy and  some  of  the  nobles  of  Germany  and  Lorraine. 
The  Count  of  Nevers,  however,  and  a  great  number  of  others, 
marched  away,  instigated,  we  are  assured,  by  the  devil,  which 
we  have  no  reason  to  doubt ;  for  as  the  devil  certainly  brought 
them  there,  it  is  very  probable  that  he  took  them  back  again. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  the  Count  de  Montfort,  with 
the  forces  which  still  remained,  marched  out  of  Carcassonne, 
after  a  few  days'  rest,  in  order  to  obtain  possession  of  the  towns 
and  castles  of  the  viscounty,  which  still  held  out  against 
them.  Some  of  these  were  of  considerable  importance,  as 
Minerve,  Termes,  and  Cabaret ;  but  many  other  small  towns, 
terrified  at  the  excesses  committed  by  the  crusaders,  submit- 
ted at  once  without  resistance ;  and  others  were  abandoned 
by  their  inhabitants,  and  were  found  vacant  on  the  approach 
of  the  army.  Such  was  the  case  wdth  Fanjaux,  where  St. 
Dominic  had  established  himself. 

The  inhabitants  of  Castres  invited  De  Montfort  to  their 


184  DARK   SCENES    OF   HISTORY. 

town ;  but  he  could  not  set  his  foot  in  any  place  without  dis- 
playing the  spirit  of  persecution  which  animated  him  ;  and  a 
very  fair  specimen  of  its  operation  is  afforded  by  a  transaction 
which  took  place  in  Castres.  Among  other  heretics  brought 
before  the  count  and  the  legate,  were  a  teacher  and  his  neo- 
phyte. The  unhappy  young  man,  seeing  the  preparations 
lor  burning  himself  and  his  master,  declared  his  readiness  to 
abandon  the  doctrines  which  he  had  not  yet  fully  imbibed, 
and  submit  himself  entirely  to  the  Church.  A  great  dispute 
then  arose  between  the  crusaders  present,  as  to  whether  he 
ought  to  be  burned  or  not ;  and  it  was  decided  by  De  Mont- 
fort  in  favor  of  the  burning,  lor  the  following  reasons.  "  If 
he  be  really  converted,"  said  the  religious  count,  "  the  lire 
will  serve  as  an  expiation  for  his  sins;  and,  if  he  i§  deceiving 
us,  it  will  be  a  just  punishment." 

The  young  man,  however,  was  saved  by  a  miracle,  we  are 
seriously  informed,  the  flame  which  consumed  his  companion 
only  serving  to  burn  the  cords  which  bound  him  and  the  tips 
of  his  fingers.  This,  if  it  was  true,  and  if  it  was  miraculous, 
clearly  showed  that  Heaven  did  not  approve  of  the  summary 
proceedings  of  the  Count  de  Montfort. 

Before  the  end  of  the  year,  De  Montfort  and  the  legate, 
while  still  aided  by  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  carried  on  their 
excursions  on  various  sides,  trenching  on  the  territories  of  the 
Count  of  Toulouse  in  one  direction,  and  on  those  of  the  Count 
of  Foix  on  the  other.  It  would  be  tedious  to  tell  all  the  places 
they  attacked  and  took,  or  of  which  they  obtained  possession 
by  menaces ;  but  it  is  quite  clear  that  they  did  not  confine 
their  operations  to  the  viscounty  of  Beziers. 

Raymond  of  Toulouse,  in  order  to  save  his  territories  from' 
spoliation,  had  been  driven  by  the  Church  to  take  the  cross, 
and  to  lead  the  armies  of  the  legate  against  the  territories  of 
his  nephew.  Passion,  also,  might  have  some  share  in  his  con- 
duct ;  for,  as  I  have  shown  before,  the  young  viscount  had 
commenced  by  levying  war  upon  his  uncle.  The  count,  how 
ever,  had  soon  cause  to  regret  the  fatal  mistake  he  had  made. 
The  only  chance  of  security  left  to  any  of  the  suspected  princes, 
after  the  preaching  of  the  crusade,  lay  in  firm  combination 
for  resistainee ;  and  they  ought  to  have  known  that  no  such 
things  as  mercy  or  justice  exist  in  a  religious  war. 

After  the  fall  of  Carcassonne,  it  appears  that,  trusting  to 
the  absolution  of  the  pope,  and  suspecting  the  ambition  of  De 
Montfort,  Raymond  proposed  to  the  latter,  when  he  had  ac- 
cepted the  viBCOunty  of  Beziers,  to  dismantle  the  fortresses 


THE  ALBIGENSES.  185 

upon  the  frontier  of  that  district,  and  upon  that,  of  his  own 
county  of  Toulouse,  justly  observing  that  otherwise -the  gar- 
risons might  enter  into  disputes,  which  might  lead  to  serious 
consequences.  He  even  proceeded  to  act  upon  this  plan,  and 
threw  down  several  castles  of  his  own  on  the  marches  of  Tou- 
louse and  Beziers. 

We  do  not  find,  however,  that  De  Montfort  did  the  same ; 
and  his  invasion  of  territories  belonging  either  to  Raymond 
himself  or  to  his  neighbors  and  alHes,  showed  the  unfortunate 
prince  what  he  was  to  expect  when  the  leader  of  the  crusade 
was  firmly  estabhshed  in  his  new  possessions.  From  Carcas- 
sonne, Raymond  had  retired  to  Toulouse,  watching  the  pro- 
ceedings of  De  Montfort  and  the  legate  with  doubt  and  jeal- 
ousy ;  but  his  ambitious  neighbor  soon  displayed  his  purposes 
in  a  more  clear  and  definite  manner.  Vague  charges  of  her- 
esy were  spread  abroad  regarding  the  Count  of  Foix ;  and 
hardly  was  De  Montfort  firmly  established  in  possession  of  the 
viscounty,  ere  he  wrote  imperious  letters  to  both  the  neigh- 
boring counts,  telling  them,  that  if  they  did  not  immediately 
come  to  some  accommodation  with  him,  he  was  determined  to 
fall  upon  them.  Letters  to  the  same  effect,  it  would  appear, 
were  written  to  the  inhabitants  of  Toulouse,  in  which  city  De 
Montfort  had  many  agents  among  the  priesthood. 

The  Count  of  Toulouse  replied,  that  as  to  himself,  his  peo- 
ple, and  his  territory,  he  had  no  question  to  settle  with  the 
Count  de  Montfort,  or  the  legate  either ;  that  he  had  made 
his  peace  with  the  pope,  and  had  shown  the  terms,  agreed 
upon  in  writing,  to  the  legate,  with  whom  he  did  not  propose 
to  enter  into  any  other  arrangements  than  those  which  he  had 
made  with  the  sovereign  pontiff'.  He  bade  the  messengers, 
also,  inform  the  count  and  the  legate  that,  since  they  seemed 
determined  to  harass  him  and  strip  him  of  his  territories,  he 
was  determined  to  go  in  person  to  Rome,  and  lay  his  cause 
before  the  holy  father.  Innocent. 

The  Count  of  Foix  was  apparently  less  resolute  than  even 
Raymond  of  Toulouse.  He  agreed  to  give  up  his  youngest 
son  to  De  Montfort,  till  such  time  as  he  should  have  justified 
himself  from  the  chajge  of  heresy  brought  against  him  by  the 
legate. 

It  would  appear,  however,  that  Raymond's  determination 
to  visit  Rome  gave  great  uneasiness  to  his  enemies  ;  and  fresh 
difficulties  and  dangers  were  preparing  for  De  Montfort,  who 
had  yet  to  learn  how  slippery  are  the  steps  of  ambition's  lad- 
der, and  how  short-lived  is  the  effect  of  terror  in  producing 


186       DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

submission.  Before  the  end  of  the  year,  De  Montfort  had 
possessed  himself  of  Alzonne,  Fanjaux,  Castres,  Lombers,  Pa- 
miers,  Saverdun,  and  Mirepoix,  and  carried  his  arms  even  to 
Albi  itself  On  the  other  hand,  he  had  in  vain  besieged  Ca- 
baret ;  but  he  had  gained  Saisac,  had  bought  the  surrender 
of  Limoux,  and  laid  siege  to  Preissan,  a  town  belonging  to 
the  Count  de  Foix,  which,  after  it  had  made  a  gallant  resist- 
ance, that  nobleman  weakly  surrendered  to  him,  at  the  same 
time  that  he  gave  his  son  as  a  hostage.  In  all  these  places 
the  most  horrible  cruelties  were  committed  by  order  of  the 
count  and  the  legate.  Multitudes  of  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren were  burned  alive  or  hanged ;  and  the  records  which 
we  find  in  different  Roman  Catholic  authors  are  such  as  the 
following  : 

"  He  took  several  castles  which  resisted  the  holy  Church, 
and  hanged,  of  good  right,  many  of  their  inhabitants  upon 
gibbets,  which  they  had  well  merited."* 

"  The  besieged,  wearied  out  with  a  long  siege,  having  fled 
during  the  night,  were  stopped  by  our  guards,  who  cut  the 
throats  of  as  many  as  they  could  find."t 

"  The  Count  Simon,  having  thus  taken  the  castle,  caused 
the  above-named  Aimeri,  a  notable  nobleman,  to  be  hanged 
upon  a  gibbet ;  also  a  small  immber  of  knights.  The  other 
nobles,  with  some  who  had  mixed  among  them  in  the  hope 
that  the  knights  would  be  spared,  to  the  number  of  about 
eighty,  were  put  to  the  sword  ;  and,  lastly,  some  three  hund- 
red heretics,  burned  in  this  world,  were  thus  given  over  by 
him  to  the  eternal  fire  ;  and  Guiraude,  the  lady  of  the  chat- 
eau, cast  into  a  well,  was  there  crushed  down  with  stones.  "| 

"  Und^  a  color  of  heresy,  they  (the  legate  and  the  Count 
de  Montfort)  pillaged  and  destroyed  the  poor  country,  so  that 
it  was  sad  to  see  all  the  evil  and  the  damage  that  they  did."^ 

Oppression  and  butchery  had  passed  the  point  at  which 
they  excite  fear,  and  had  roused  the  spirit  of  vengeance  and 
resistance.  The  first  check  received  by  De  Montfort  came 
from  the  King  of  Aragon.  That  prince  held,  under  homage 
to  the  King  of  France,  or,  as  some  contend,  without  such 
homage,  the  superior  lordship  of  Carcassonne  and  MontpeUier ; 
and  feeling  that  the  donation  of  the  former  city  by  the  legate 
and  the  council  of  crusaders  was  invalid  without  the  recog- 

*  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cemay.  t  William  of  Nangis. 

t  Puy  Laurens. 

$  History  of  the  War  of  the  Albigenses.     Dona  Vaiwotte,  Histoire  de 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  187 

nition  of  the  King  of  Aragon,  De  Montfort  was  exceedingly 
anxious  to  bo  admitted  to  do  homage  for  his  new  possessions. 
Peter  of  Aragon  met  him  at  Narbonne,  and  even  journeyed 
with  him  in  a  friendly  manner  to  Montpellier  ;  but  he  would 
in  no  inanner  recognize  De  Montfort's  title  to  the  viscounty, 
and  positively  refused  to  receive  him  to  homage. 

The  count's  absence  from  Carcassonne,  in  the  mean  time, 
had  been  the  signal  for  a  general  revolt  in  the  territories  of 
Beziers  ;  and  even  some  of  his  most  trusted  friends  had  risen 
against  him.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  had  retired  from  the 
crusade  ;  winter  was  coming  on ;  and  the  troops,  on  which 
he  had  relied,  had,  for  the  most  part,  abandoned  him  to  return 
to  their  own  homes.  The  people  of  the  country  had  taken 
advahtage  of  the  favorable  moment.  Castres  and  Lombers 
had  risen  against  the  garrisons  which  De  Montfort  had  left  in 
those  places,  had  made  prisoners  both  soldiers  and  knights,  and 
were  prepared  for  vigorous  resistance.  The  Count  of  Foix, 
seeing  the  daily  encroachments  of  the  adversary,  had  broken 
the  truce,  retaken  the  Castle  of  Preissan,  and  made  an  attack 
upon  Fanjaux.  Amaury,  lord  of  Mont  Real,  whose  town  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  De  Montfort,  it  would  appear,  by 
treachery,  regained  possession  of  the  place.  The  two  com- 
manders, whom  the  count  had  left  in  Saissac,  in  making  a 
treacherous  attack  upon  Cabaret,  a  fortress  belonging  to  the 
Count  of  Toulouse,  were  surprised  by  the  old  captain  of  the 
latter  place,  named  Peter  Roger,*  with  a  force  of  only  forty 
men,  and  completely  defeated.  Only  one  man,  it  is  said,  es- 
caped alive  from  the  field  ;  and  only  one,  Bouchard  de  Mar- 
ly, was  made  prisoner.  Two  brother  knights,  Amaury  and 
William  of  Pissiac,  were  besieged  in  a  castle  near  Carcas- 
sonne, and  made  prisoners  ;  and  one  of  De  Montfort's  favorite 
officers,  named  Gerard  de  Pepieux,  had  revolted  against  him, 
in  consequence  of  a  private  quarrel,  and  displayed  more  active 
animosity  toward  him  than  any  other  of  his  enemies. 

Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay  conceals  the  cause  of  this  noble- 
man's indignation  ;  but  we  find  from  other  sources  that  some 
of  the  immediate  attendants  of  De  Montfort  had  murdered  a 
dear  friend  of  Gerard  de  Pepieux  ;  and  there  is  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  the  count  at  first  refused  to  do  justice  upon  them, 
though  he  afterward,  in  the  same  humane  spirit  which  char- 
acterized all  his  actions,  seized  upon  the  actual  murderer  and 
caused  him  to  be  buried  alive.  However  that  might  be,  De 
Pepieux,  gathering  as  many  men  together  as  he  could,  at- 
*  He  was  a  relation  of  the  Viscount  de  Beziers. 


188  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

tacked  the  Castle  of  Puiserguier,  within  two  leagues  of  Be- 
ziers,  took  it,  and, made  prisoners  of  all  the  garrison.  We  are 
assured,  upon  very  doubtful  authority,  that  he  promised  the  . 
knights  who  were  there,  not  only  to  spare  their  lives,  but  to 
convey,  them  in  safety  to  Narbonne.  The  count,  however,- 
hastened  with  his  forces  toward  the  place,  in  the  hope  of  re- 
covering it  before  Gerard  was  prepared.  De  Pepieux,  brought 
up  in  a  school  of  cruelty,  the  lessons  of  which  he  had  learned 
too  well,  cast  all  the  common  prisoners  into  the  ditch  of  the 
tower,  and  threw  straw,  fire,  and  stones  upon  them.  He  then 
retreated  to  Minerve,  taking  two  knights  prisoners  with  him ; 
and,  immediately  after  his  arrival,  he  put  out  their  eyes,  cut 
off  their  noses,  ears,  and  upper  lips,  and  turned  them  out  in 
this  state  to  find  their  way  back  to  De  Montfort.  Such  was 
;  the  lamentable  state  of  the  count's  affairs  toward  the  close  of 
the  year  1209. 

Hitherto  the  Count  of  Toulouse  had  taken  no  active  part 
in  opposition  to  De  Montfort  and  the  legate,  although  they 
had  evidently  encroached  upon  his  territories,  and  sought  pre- 
texts of  quarrel  against  him.  Their  intention  of  stripping 
him  of  his  lands,  however,  was  so  evident  that  he  proceeded 
in  haste  to  execute  his  resolution,  not  only  of  seeking  justice 
from  the  pope,  but  of  demanding  in  person  aid  from  his  friends 
and  allies.  He  accordingly  set  out  for  the  court  of  Philip 
Augustus,  who  had  as  yet  afforded  no  assistance  to  the  crusa- 
ders, and  on  whom  their  near  relationship  gave  some  claim  to 
Raymond  of  Toulouse.  The  count  was  received  with  great 
kindness  by  the  king,  with  whom  he  fouud  many  of  those  who 
had  joined  in  the  crusade.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy,  the  Count 
of  Ncvers,  and  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Champagne,  sister 
of  his  decea.sed  wife,  were  present ;  and  from  the  latter  he 
met  with  every  mark  of  affection  and  regard.  It  does  not 
appear  that  Philip  of  France  absolutely  promised  him  any  as- 
sistance ;  but  his  friendship  and  countenance  was  in  itself  of 
use ;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  report  made  by  Raymond, 
and  confirmed  by  the  other  crusading  princes,  of  the  conduct 
of  De  Montfort  and  the  legato,  roused  the  jealousy,  if  not  the 
anger  of  the  French  monarch.  Such  feelings  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  cultivated  profitably  by  the  Count  of  Toulouse  ; 
but  he  shortly  after  committed  a  mistake  which  lost  to  him 
forever  the  favor  of  Pliilip  Augustus. 

Furnished  with  letters  to  the  pope,  from  the  King  of  France 
and  the  crusading  princes,  Raymond  then  hurried  to  Rome, 
taking  with  him  one  of  the  chief  men  (called  Capi*'^"'..)  of 


THE    A1.BIGENSES.  189 

Toulouse,  to  bear  witness  of  his  conduct  since  liis  reconcilia- 
tion with  the  Church.  It  would  appear  that  some  days 
passed  before  he  could  obtain  admission  to  the  sovereign  pon- 
tilf;  for  De  Montfort  and  the  legate,  as  politic  as  they  were 
cruel,  maintained  a  man  named  Robert  of  Mauvoisin  as  their 
agent  at  the  court  of  Rome,  one  of  whose  duties  was  to  keep 
up  every  sort  of  evil  impression  in  the  mind  of  the  pope  against 
the  unfortunate  Count  of  Toulouse.  At  length,  however,  an 
audience  was  granted ;  and  Raymond  presented  himself  be- 
fore Innocent  and  the  cardinals,  justified  his  conduct  at  large, 
appealed  to  the  testimony  of  the  witness  he  had  brought  wdth 
him,  and  warmly  accused  the  legate  and  the  Count  of  Mont- 
fort of  fabricating  calumnies  to  cover  the  injustice  of  their 
ambitious  proceedings. 

The  appeal  was  not  made  in  vain.  Innocent  himself  was 
moved,  and  his  knowledge  of  human  nature  convinced  him 
there  was  much  truth  in  the  simple  statement  of  the  count. 
How  far  he  went  in  judging  his  cause  is  somewhat  doubtful ; 
but  it  is  stated  by  a  cotemporary  historian  that  he  investiga- 
ted the  case  fully,  personally  heard  the  count  in  confession, 
gave  him  absolution  in  the  most  formal  manner,  and,  on  his 
departure,  presented  him  with  a  ring  from  his  own  hand,  and 
a  rich  mantle  of  great  value. 

The  companions  and  confederates  of  the  legate  state  these 
transactions  very  differently  ;  but  as  it  is  clear  that  De  Mont- 
fort and  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  determined  not  to  act  upon  any 
instructions  from  Rome  in  favor  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse, 
and  misinterpreted  the  letters  they  received,  it  was  very  nat- 
ural that  their  scribe  should  be  instructed  to  put  forth  their 
view  of  the  case.  It  is  clear,  however,  beyond  all  doubt,  that 
Innocent  wrote  monitory  letters  to  the  legate,  warning  him 
not  to  begin  hostilities  against  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  to  pro- 
ceed with  greater  circumspection  in  his  war  against  the  her- 
etics, and  to  consult  the  French  nobility  and  prelates  as  to  the 
best  means  of  accomplishing  the  pacification  of  the  country. 
He  also  expressed  his  disbelief  of  the  charges  brought  against 
the  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  clearly  showed  a  favorable  dispo- 
sition toM^ard  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Rome,  Raymond  committed  one  of 
the  many  indiscreet  acts  with  which  his  memory  is  charged, 
and  went  to  visit  the  Emperor  Otho  for  the  purpose  of  request- 
ing succor  and  support  Irom  him.  It  is  true  that  Otho  v/as 
his  superior  lord  for  the  county  of  the  Venaissin,  and  was  con- 
sequently bound  to  give  him  assistance  in  case  of  an  attack 


190  DARK  SCEiNES   OF    HISTORY. 

being  made  upon  that  territory.  Raymond  might  also  think 
that  no  blame  could  be  attributed  to  him  for  visiting  the  neph- 
ew of  his  deceased  wife  Joan.  But  Philip  Augustus  was  the 
personal  and  inveterate  enemy  of  the  emperor  ;  and  Otho  had 
already  entered  upon  a  course  of  hostilities  against  the  Roman 
see,  which  led  to  his  excommunication,  by  a  council  held  at 
Rome  in  November  of  the  same  year.  This  imprudent  step 
deprived  Raymond  of  all  countenance  from  the  King  of 
France ;  and,  although  it  could  not  annul  the  pope's  absolu- 
tion, it  certainly  rendered  that  pontiff  indifferent,  if  not  hos- 
tite,  in  the  subsequent  dissensions  between  the  count  and  his 
enemies. 

To  the  admonitions  of  the  pope,  the  legate  and  the  Count 
de  Montfbrt  seem  to  have  paid  very  little  attention.  They 
published  every  where  that  the  pope  had  repelled,  and  treated 
with  scorn  and  contempt,  the  appeal  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse. 
They  induced  the  pope's  legates  in  Provence  to  reject  the  ap- 
plication of  the  count  to  purge  himself  of  all  the  crimes  of 
which  they  accused  him,  in  a  solemn  council  held  at  St.  Giles, 
and  prompted  them  to  refuse  to  deUver  up  to  him  the  seven 
strong  places  which  he  had  given  as  security.* 

*  To  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the  infamous  knavery  of  these  men, 
I  will  state  the  particulars  of  this  transaction  as  they  are  given  by  their 
great  advocate,  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cemay,  one  of  the  actors  in  the  crusade, 
and  nephew  to  one  only  second  in  cunning  and  fanaticism  to  the  Abbot 
pf  Citeaux.  After  stating  that  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  on  his  return 
from  Rome,  had  demanded,  according  to  his  agreement  with  the  pope, 
to  purge  himself  of  the  imputation  of  having  murdered  Peter  of  Castel- 
nau,  and  of  entertaining  heretical  opinions  before  the  Bishop  of  Rieg 
(sometimes  written  Reggip)  and  the  pope's  envoy  Theodise,  he  goes  on 
to  say,  that  Theodise,  coming  to  Toulouse,  had  a  secret  conference  with 
the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  touchmg  the  admission  of  the  count  so  to  clear 
himself.  "  Now  Master  Theodise,"  he  continues,  "  a  man  full  of  circum- 
spection, and  foresight,  and  solicitude  for  the  aflfairs  of  God,  desired 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  able  lawfully  to  prevent  the  count  from  jasti- 
fying  himself  as  had  been  prescribed  to  him,  and  he  searched  for  all 
iiiequs  of  doing  so."  The  historian  then  goes  on  to  say  that  Theodiso 
saw  that,  if  the  count  were  permitted  to  do  so,  it  would  be  all  over  with 
the  Church  in  those  countries.  "  While  he  tormented  himself  with 
these  apprehensions,  and  deliberated  thereon,  the  Lord  opened  to  him 
a  way  ofgetting  out  of  the  difficulty,  by  hinting  to  him  in  what  manner 
ho  might  refuse  to  allow  the  count  to  ju-stify  himself.  Accordingly,  he 
had  recourse  to  letters  of  our  lord  the  ^po,  in  which,  among  other 
tilings,  the  sovereign  pontiif  said,  '  We  will  that  the  Count  of  Toulouse 
should  fulfill  our  commands.'  Now  there  were  several  laid  upon  tho 
count,  such  as  to  expel  the  heretics  from  his  territories,  to  abandon  the 
new  tolls  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  many  other  injunctions  which 
ho  hru\  failed  to  accomplish.'  We  are  then  informed  that,  having  ar- 
ranged all  this  plan  with  hi*  iniquitous  companions,  Theodise  and  the 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  IDl 

This  council  was  held  toward  the  end  of  September,  1210; 
but,  in  the  mean  time,  various  important  events  had  taken . 
place  in  Languedoc,  which  it  is  necessary  to  notice. 

The  influx  of  crusaders  had  totally  ceased  during  the  win- 
ter, and  Simon  de  Montfort  was  unable  to  do  any  thing  of- 
importance.  His  forces,  however,  always  formed  the  nucleus 
of  an  army  which  was  sure  to  be  swollen  by  immense  numbers 
of  volunteers  as  soon  as  the  fine  weather  set  in.  The  first 
auxiliaries  which  arrived  in  the  spring  of  1210  were  brought 
to  him  by  his  wife.  Many  more  followed,  and  the  war  was 
immediately  renewed.  Several  small  places  were  recovered 
which  had  been  retaken  by  De  Montfort's  adversaries  during 
the  autumn  of  the  preceding  year,  and  the  same  horrible  cru- 
elties were  exercised  which  disgraced  his  arms  wherever  they 
were  successful.  The  Castle  of  Brom  was  taken  after  a  siege 
of  three  days,  and  a  hundred  soldiers  who  w^ere  found  therein 
were  shockingly  mutilated  by  the  orders  of  this  sanguinary 
barbarian.  Their  noses  were  cut  ofi',  and  the  eyes  of  all  of 
them  torn  out,  with  one  exception.  A  single  individual  had 
one  eye  left  uninjured,  in  order  that  he  might  lead  the  others 
to  the  town  of  Cabaret. 

De  Montfort's  flatterer,  Vaulx  Cernay,  declares  that  he  was 
the  mildest  of  men ;  but  the  horrible  spirit  which  animated 
the  crusaders  is  more  plainly  shown  by  their  awful  blasphe- 
mies than  even  by  the  excesses  they  committed.  We  meet 
continually  such  expressions  as  "  Christ  and  the  Count  de 
Montfort,"  "  God  and  Simon  de  Montfort ;"  and,  after  narra- 
ting the  brutal  act  of  cruelty  I  have  just  mentioned,  De  Vaulx 
Cernay  proceeds  to  say,  "  From  that  moment  the  Lord,  w^ho 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep  for  a  little,  waking  up  to  the 
assistance  of  his  servants,  showed  manifestly  that  he  was  act- 
ing on  our  side." 

The  war  was  next  carried  on  furiously  against  the  Count 
of  Foix,  but  apparently  without  success.  The  whole  country, 
however,  was  ravaged  by  the  forces  of  De  Montfort  and  the 

Bishop  of  Rieg,  "  iu  order  not  to  appear  to  molest  the  count  or  do  him 
wrong,  held  a  council  at  the  town  of  St.  Giles,  and  allowed  him  to  ap- 
pear to  clear  himself;  but  the  moment  that  Raymond  began  to  provo 
his  innocence  of  the  death  of  the  legate  and  of  the  crime  of  heresy, 
Theodise  stopped  him,  saying  that  his  justification  could  not  be  heard, 
inasmuch  as  he  had  in  no  degree  accomplished  what  had  been  enjoin- 
ed him,  according  to  the  orders  of  the  sovereign  pontiff."  The  count, 
we  are  assured,  was  so  moved  by  the  incessant  persecution  of  these 
men,  that  he  actually  shed  tears  ;  and  the  council  proceeded,  in  defiance 
of  the  pope's  absolution,  to  excommunicate  him  ou  the  spot. 


k 


192  DARK-SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

•^• 
legate,  till  a  truce  was  obtained  for  the  Count  of  Poix  by  the 
intercession  of  the  King  of  Aragon. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  events  of  the  campaign  of  1210 
was  the  siege  of  the  strong  town  and  castle  of  Minerve,  situ- 
ated in  the  gorges  of  the  Pyrenees,  in  a  situation  almost  im- 
pregnable by  any  of  the  means  then  known.  The  attack  be- 
gan toward  the  end  of  June,  in  the  midst  of  the  great  heats 
of  summer  ;  but  the  military  engines  of  De  Montfort  and  his 
companions  did  little  damage  to  the  fortifications,  and  the  siege 
promised  to  be  long  and  troublesome,  especially  as  the  garri- 
son and  the  commander  were  known  to  be  men  of  courage 
and  resolution.  Unfortunately,  however,  they  had  been  want- 
ing in  forethought.  Water  and  provisions  failed,  and  William 
of  Minerve  proposed  to  capitulate.  He  went  out  himself,  un- 
der a  safe-conduct,  to  confer  with  De  Montfort ;  and  it  would 
appear  the  terms  of  a  treaty  were  actually  arranged,  when  the 
legate,  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  mterfered,  and  all  that  followed 
is  enveloped  in  darkness  and  falsehood. 

We  discover,  however,  from  the  admissions  of  Vaulx  Cernay, 
that  a  base  treachery  was  practiced.  He  admits  that  the 
Abbot  of  Citeaux  desired  very  much  that  those  whom  he  calls 
the  enemies  of  Christ  should  be  put  to  death,  and  he  goes  on 
to  say,  "  Thinking,  then,  in  what  manner  he  could  get  rid  of 
the  compromise  which  had  been  entered  into  between  the 
count  and  the  said  William,  he  ordered  each  of  them  to  draw 
up  the  capitulation  in  writing  ;  and  he  did  this,  in  order  that, 
if  the  conditions  put  down  by  one  displeased  the  other,  they 
might  go  back  from  the  engagements  they  had  made." 

This  detestable  piece  of  knavery  succeeded.  De  Montfort, 
probably,  prompted  by  the  legate,  refused  to  acknowledge  the 
terms  put  down  by  his  adversary,  and  told  him  to  go  back  and 
defend  himself  as  best  he  could.  The  Abbot  of  Citeaux  then 
dictated  other  terms,  by  which  it  was  agreed  that  all  per- 
sons should  be  allowed  to  leave  the  fortress  in  safety,  upon 
condition  that  the  heretics  renounced  their  heresy,  and  sub- 
mitted entirely  to  the  Romish  Church.  William  of  Minerve 
had  no  choice  but  to  accept  these  conditions,  or  to  return  and 
defend  a  town  where  the  people  were  dying  in  crowds  for  want 
of  water. 

The  place  accordingly  surrendered,  and  then  the  slaughter 
began.  The  choice  of  apostasy  or  fire  was  given  to  the  un- 
fortunate Albigenses.  A  great  number  preferred  martyrdom 
to  the  renunciation  of  their  faith.  An  immense  fire  was  pre- 
pared before  the  gates  of  the  citadel,  and  the  Count  de  Mont- 


i 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  193 

fort  and  the  monks  exhorted  the  people  to  be  converted,  and 
live.  According  to  the  testimony  of  one  of  their  most  invet- 
erate enemies,  these  exhortations  had  no  effect.  "Neither 
was  there  any  need,  in  truth,"  says  the  monkish  writer,  "for 
our  people  to  carry  them  to  the  fire ;  for,  obstinate  in  their 
wickedness,  all  cast  themselves  joyfully  into  the  flames." 

It  appears  that  there  were  many  women  among  them ;  and 
three  of  these  were  saved,  actually  out  of  the  fire,  by  a  lady 
who  was  with  the  crusading  host.  A  hundred  and  eighty,  or 
more,  were  thus  burned  altogether.  ,      ' 

The  next  siege  undertaken  was  that  of  the  town  of  Termes ; 
and  during  the  operations  several  large  bodies  of  crusaders 
arrived  to  swell  the  army  of  De  Montfort,  among  whom  were 
the  Bishops  of  Chartres  and  Beauvais,  and  the  Counts  'of 
Dreux  and  Ponthieu,  together  with  a  large  party  of  Bretons. 
Notwithstanding  a  gallant  defense,  and  the  constant  efforts  of 
the  garrison  of  Cabaret  to  assist  their  companions  in  Termes, 
the  garrison  was  at  length  reduced  to  such  a  state  of  distress, 
both  by  the  engines  of  the  enemy  and  the  want  of  water,  that 
the  commander  saw  it  would  be  impossible  to  hold  out  much 
longer.  In  the  mean  time,  however,  violent  disputes  broke 
out  among  the  crusaders ;  and  the  Counts  of  Ponthieu  and 
Dreux,  with  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  retired  from  the  camp  of 
De  Montibrt,  in  spite  of  every  remonstrance.  Before  this 
time,  however,  the  garrison  had  commenced  a  parley  with  the 
besiegers  ;  but  a  great  quantity  of  rain  falling  in  the  night  re- 
vived their  courage,  and  they  soon  perceived  that  the  number 
of  assailants  was  greatly  diminished.  Almost  any  terms  were 
now  offered  to  them  ;  but  the  Bishop  of  Chartres  also  depart- 
ed, and  De  Montfort  was  left  with  the  Bretons,  a  body  of  Ger- 
mans, and  his  own  troops  to  carry  on  the  siege. 

The  intemperance  of"  the  people  of  the  garrison,  however, 
changed  a  blessing  into  a  curse.  The  unexpected  supply  of 
water  seemed  to  them  inexhaustible  ;  and,  quenching  their 
thirst  with  large  draughts,  they  brought  on  a  pestilential  dysen- 
tery, of  which  so  many  died  that  the  rest  took  flight  and  aban- 
doned the  place  during  the  night,  retreating  across  the  mount- 
ains into  Catalonia.  The  greater  part  escaped ;  but  the  com- 
mander of  the  place,  named  Raymond  de  Termes,  foolishly 
returned,  when  almost  in  safety,  remembering  that  he  had  left 
some  valuables  behind  him,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
Count  de  Montfort,  who,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom,  con- 
tented himself  with  keeping  him  in  captivity. 

The  fall  of  Termes  and  Minerve,  two  of  the  strongest  places 


194  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

in  the  whole  district,  brought  about  the  surrender,  withotrt 
bloodshed,  of  many  other  castles  and  towns,  so  that  De  Mont- 
ibrt  and  the  legate  were  once  more  in  possession  of  the  whole 
viscounty  of  Beziers,  a  large  part  of  the  diocese  of  Albi,  and  a 
portion  of  the  county  of  Foix.  Many  excursions  were  made 
in  different  directions  by  De  Montfort  and  his  partisans,  who 
went  about  the  country,  to  use  an  expression  of  his  celebrated 
historian,  "  burning  innumerable  heretics  with  great  joy  and 
satisfaction." 

It  is  to  be  remarked,  that  during  all  this  time  the  Count 
of  Toulouse  was  not  only  an  obedient  son  of  the  Church,  sub- 
mitting to  its  most  iniquitous  exactions  without  other  recourse 
than  an  appeal  to  the  pope,  but  also  was  on  terms  of  nominal 
alliance  with  De  Montfort  and  the  legate,  endeavoring  to  avert 
the  execution  of  their  purposes  against  his  territories  by  any 
means  rather  than  by  arms.  In  these  transactions  he  showed, 
indeed,  great  weakness ;  and  although  he  knew  his  enemies, 
was  well  aware  of  their  falsehood  and  treachery,  and  clearly 
saw  their  ultimate  purposes  (wliich  were,  indeed,  but  too  evi- 
dent), he  nevertheless  did  many  things  to  conciliate  them, 
and  at  one  time  placed  his  capital  almost  at  their  command. 
This  was  brought  about,  it  would  appear,  by  the  intrigues  of 
one  of  the  most  cunning,  deceitful,  and  treacherous  of  the 
Romish  prelates,  Fulk,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  whom  the  historian 
of  the  war,  though  a  steadfast  Catholic  himself,  does  not  scruple 
more  than  once  to  call  "the  accursed  bishop." 

Shortly  after  Raymond's  return  from  Rome,  buoyed  up  with 
hopes  by  the  pope's  reception  and  the  absolution  he  had  receiv- 
ed, he  gave  way  to  his  natural  hghtness  and  gayety  of  char- 
acter, and  yielded  himself  with  little  reserve  to  the  guidance 
of  the  bishop,  who  easily  persuaded  him  that  some  new  con- 
cession to  the  legate,  which  would  give  him  security  against 
the  heretics,  was  all  that  was  needful  to  turn  away  his  malevo- 
lence, and  render  the  count  and  himself  the  most  perfect  friend* 
in  the  world.  De  Montfort  and  the  legate  were  brought  to 
Toulouse  for  a  day  or  two,  were  splendidly  entertained  by  the 
count ;  and  in  the  end  the  legate  declared,  we  are  informed, 
that  not  only  would  ho  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  sincerity 
of  the  count,  but  would  do  every  thing  in  his  power  to  defend 
him  against  all  enemies,  if  he  would  but  put  him  in  posses- 
sion of  the  Castle  of  Narbonnois,  the  strongest  defense  of  Tou- 
louse. The  count,  without  consulting  any  one,  and  perhaps 
under  the  influence  of  wine,  consented  to  this  proposal,  and 
gave  up  the  castle  to  his  enemy,  the  legate,  who  immediately 


THEALBIGBNSES.  195 

took  possession,  and  placed  a  garrison  therein,  much  to  the 
horror  and  indignation  of  the  people  of  Toulouse. 

The  date  of  this  act  I  can  not  clearly  discover;  but  it  prob- 
ably took  place  some  time  previous  to  the  Council  of  St.  Giles. 

To  the  after-conduct  of  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse,  I  must  re- 
fer presently  ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  it  will  be  needful  to  fol- 
low the  proceedings  of  the  count  himself  till  such  time  as  he 
was  actually  driven  to  take  arms  in  his  own  defense. 

More  than  one  meeting,  it  would  appear,  took  place  be- 
tween Raymond  and  the  legate  of  a  private  and  informal 
character ;  and  we  find  from  a  letter  of  the  citizens  of  Tou- 
louse to  the  King  of  Aragon,  that  at  one  of  these  conferences, 
to  which  the  count  had  gone  at  the  express  invitation  of  the 
legate,  De  Montfort  fell  upon  him  with  a  body  of  armed  men 
and  endeavored  to  take  him  prisoner,  chasing  him  for  the  dis- 
tance of  more  than  a  league. 

-The  King  of  Aragon  interposed  more  than  once  in  order  to 
bring  about  peace.  Another  council  was  held  at  Narbonnc 
early  in  1211,  where  nothing  was  decided,  the  legate  offering 
to  restore  to  the  count  all  those  possessions  which  had  been 
unjustly  detained  from  him,  but  upon  conditions  the  exact 
nature  of  which  we  do  not  know,  but  which  must  have  been 
very  severe,  for  the  citizens  of  Toulouse  informed  the  King  of 
Aragon  that  their  count  had  offered  to  put  the  whole  of  his 
territories  in  the  power  of  the  legate,  with  the  exception  of - 
Toulouse ;  life,  lands,  and  the  descent  of  his  property  to  his 
children  being  guaranteed  to  him  by  the  Church.  This,  how- 
ever, was  refused  by  the  legate.  Certain  it  is,  the  Coun- 
cil of  Narbonne  produced  no  result ;  and  Raymond  set  off  for 
his  own  territories  in  haste,  fearing  for  his  personal  safety. 

As  soon  as  the  legate  found  that  he  was  gone,  he  dispatched 
messengers  after  him,  and  also  letters  to  the  King  of  Aragon, 
commanding  them  both,  in  a  somewhat  haughty  tone,  to  pre- 
sent themselves  at  Aries,  where  he  intended  to  hold  another 
council.  Both  the  princes  obeyed,  but  probably  took  with 
them  a  sufficient  train  to  insure  them  against  danger.  There 
is  reason  to  believe,  however,  that  Raymond  only  went  at  the 
request  of  the  King  of  Aragon. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  Count  of  Foix  was  present  at 
Aries,  although  he  had  gone  to  the  council  at  Narbonne  with 
as  little  advantage  as  the  Count  of  Toulouse.  In  both  these 
assemblies  a  new  legate  appeared  in  the  person  of  the  Bishop 
of  Usez,  who  was  commissioned  to  act  with  the  Abbot  of  Ci- 
teaux,  probably  in  the  expectation  that  he  might  moderate 


19%  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

the  rancor  of  the  latter.  But  at  Aries  the  two  most  virulent 
enemies  of  Raymond,  Theodise,  who  possessed  his  castles  in 
the  name  of  the  Church,  and  Fulk,  bishop  of  Toulouse,  added 
their  malice  and  cunning  to  the  violence  and  knavery  of  the 
Abbot  of  Citeaux,  so  that  the  Bishop  of  Usez,  had  he  been 
disposed  to  be  moderate,  would  have  had  but  little  power  in 
tiie  council. 

"When  Raymond  and  the  Ring  of  Aragdn  proceeded,  after 
their  arrival  at  Aries,  to  visit  the  legate,  he  treated  them  with 
the  most  contemptuous  haughtiness,  told  them  to  go  back  to 
their  lodging  till  he  sent  for  them,  and  commanded  them  not 
to  stir  from  Aries  without  permission  of  the  council.  The  as- 
sembly debated  secretly,  we  are  assured,  upon  what  was  to 
be  done  in  the  case  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse ;  and  a  violent 
and  extravagant  resolution  was  come  to,  which  could  only 
have  the  efiect  (for  which,  in  all  probability,  it  was  intended) 
of  driving  the  count  into 'open  resistance.  As  soon  as  the  de- 
cision of  the  council  was  formed,  it  was  notified  to  the  count, 
in  private,  by  a  deputy  from  the  assembly. 

"  They  did  not  dare  to  declare  it  in  public  audience,"  says 
the  historian  of  the  war,  *'  for  fear  of  a  rising  of  the  people  ;" 
for  they  knew  that  this  resolution  was  against  God  and  good 
conscience.     Its  import  was  as  follows  : 

"  Imprimis,  that  the  count  shall  send  away  immediately 
all  those  who  have  come  to  aid  and  succor  him,  or  shaU  come 
for  that  purpose,  without  retaining  a  single  one. 

"  Item,  that  he  shall  be  obedient  to  the  Church,  make  rep- 
aration for  all  the  evil  and  damage  which  she  has  received 
from  him,  and  shall  submit  to  her  orders  as  long  as  he  lives, 
without  any  opposition. 

"  Item,  that  in  all  his  territories  there  shall  only  be  eaten 
two  sorts  of  meat. 

"  Item,  that  the  Count  Raymond  shall  expel  and  cast  out 
of  his  lands  all  heretics  and  their  allies. 

"  Item,  that  the  said  count  shall  give  and  deliver  into  the 
hands  of  the  legate  and  the  Count  de  Montfort,  to  do  with 
them  according  to  their  will  and  pleasure,  each  and  every  one 
of  those  persons  whom  they  shall  declare  and  specify,  and  that 
before  the  expiration  of  a  year. 

••  Item,  that  throughout  all  his  territories,  no  one,  whether 
of  the  nobility  or  the  lower  classes,  shall  wear  any  rich  vest- 
ments, but  merely  common  black  stoles. 

"  Item,  that  he  shall  cast  down  and  demolish,  level  with 


THE  ALBIGBNSES.  197 

tlie  earth,  without  leaving  any  part  thereof,  all  the  castles 
and  places  of  defense  throughout  his  territories. 

•'  item,  that  no  gentleman  or  nobleman  of  the  country  shall 
inhabit  any  town  or  placCj^*^  but  shall  live  without  in  the  fields, 
as  do  the  peasantry, 

"  Item,  that  throughout  all  his  territories  there  shall  be  no 
more  tolls  or  customs,  except  those  which  used  to  be  paid  and 
levied  by  ancient  usage. 

*'  Item,  that  every  head  of  a  house  shall  pay  each  year  to 
the  legate,  or  to  those  he  shall  charge  to  receive  it,  four  de- 
njers  of  Toulouse. 

"Item,  that  the  count  shall  restore  all  that  he  shall  have 
received  from  the  reveimes  of  his  land,  and  all  the  profits  he 
shall  have  had  from  it.f 

"  Item,  that  when  the  Count  de  Montfort  shall  ride  through 
his  lands  or  territories,  or  any  of  his  people,  whether  great  or 
small,  people  shall  demand  nothing  from  him  for  what  he 
shall  take,  nor  resist  him  in  any  thing  whatsoever. 

"  Item,  that  •when  the  Count  Raymond  shall  have  done 
and  performed  all  the  above,  he  shall  go  over  the  sea  to  make 
war  upon  the  Turks  and  infidels,  in  the  order  of  St.  John,  and 
not  return  till  the  legate  shall  tell  him. 

"  Item,  that  when  he  has  done  and  accomplished  all  the 
above,  his  lands  and  lordships  shall  be  restored  and  given  up 
to  him  by  the  legate  or  the  Count  de  Montfort,  when  it  shall 
please  tltem." 

This  was  a  test  of  faith  and  trial  of  patience  which  Ray- 
mond of  Toulouse  had  not  strength  to  endure.  On  hearing 
the  terms  oflered,  he  first  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  then 
showed  the  paper  to  the  King  of  Aragon,  his  brother-in-law, 
saying, 

"  So  much  for  you." 

Without  taking  leave  of  the  legate  or  the  council,  the  two 
princes  immediately  quitted  Aries  ;  and  Raymond,  from  that 
moment,  prepared  lor  war. 

*  I  suppose  this  mast  allude  to  fortified  towns  or  places. 

t  This  passage  is  very  obscure ;  but  I  render  it  as  well  as  I  can. 


198  DARK   SCENES    OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    ALBIGENSES. 

While  negotiations  had  been  going  on  between  the  Count 
of  Toulouse,  the  King  of  Aragon  and  the  Count  of  Foix  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  legates,  De  Montfort,  and  the  bishops  on 
the  other,  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse  had  been  laboring  diUgently 
to  create  a  party  in  the  city  itself  against  the  count,  and  had 
filled  it  with  strife  and  confusion.  From  the  account  of  Puy 
Laurens,  it  would  seem  that  he  had  so  far  succeeded  in  his 
object  as  to  induce  a  number  of  persons  to  form  a  brotherhood, 
or,  as  we  should  call  it  now,  a  club,  to  destroy  the  heretics. 
To  these  he  gave  the  sign  of  the  cross ;  but  they  very  soon 
came  to  blows  with  their  fellow-Catholics  of  the  great  suburb 
of  St.  Cyprian,  who  instituted  a  rival  brotherhood ;  and  fights 
frequently  took  place  both  on  foot  and  on  horseback ;  "  for," 
says  the  fanatic  Romanist  wha  writes,  "the  Lord  had  come, 
by  the  said  bishop  his  servant,  to  bring  among  them  not  a  fatal 
peace,  but  a  salutary  sword." 

The  bishop  himself,  however,  did  not  seem  so  well  pleased 
with  the  result  of  his  own  exertions ;  and  the  detail  of  what 
took  place  is  given  in  simple  but  striking  language  by  the  in- 
habitants of  Toulouse  themselves,  in  a  letter  to  the  King  of 
Aragon.  After  representing  that  they,  the  citizens  of  the 
town,  wore  sincere  Catholics,  and  had  done  every  thing  which 
could  be  reasonably  demanded  of  them  to  prove  their  ortho- 
doxy, they  show  how  the  Abbot  of  Citeaux  had  continued  to 
persecute  them,  notwithstanding  their  appeals  to  the  pope, 
and  the  pope's  express  commands  to  the  contrary.  They  suf- 
fer, however,  some  curious  facts  to  appear  regarding  the  worthy 
abbot's  motives.  They  had  promised,  they  say,  to  pay  him 
a  thousand  hvres,  in  aid  of  the  proceedings  against  perverse 
heretics  and  for  the  support  of  the  Holy  Church.  Upon  this, 
the  abbot  consented  to  receive  them  to  grace  and  favor,  and 
recognized  the  whole  inhabitants  of  the  city  of  Toulouse,  town 
and  suburb,  as  true  Cathohcs  and  legitimate  sons  of  the  holy 
mother  Church  ;  and  in  presence  of  the  whole  town,  of  Fulk, 
bishop  of  Toulouse,  of  many  other  ecclesiastics  of  the  diocese, 
and  of  the  Bishop  of  Usez,  he,  the  legate,  Bolemnly  gave  them 


THE   ALBIGENSEfl.  190 

his  benediction.  When,  however,  they  had  paid  five  hundred 
iivres  of  the  sum  promised,  certain  dissensions  having  arisen 
among  the  inhabitants,  they  did  not  pay  the  remaining  five 
hundred,  because  they  could  not  collect  the  sum  till  tranquil- 
lity was  re-established.  For  that  cause  only,  and  without  im- 
puting to  them  any  other  fault,  the  legate  excommunicated 
the  magistrates  immediately,  and  placed  the  whole  town  un- 
der interdict 

"  After  having  supported  for  some  time  an  impudent  act 
of  injustice,"  says  the  letter  of  the  citizens,  they  humbled 
themselves  afresh,  and  gave  hostages  to  the  legate  for  their 
submission,  who  chose  out  for  that  office  the  most  important 
men  of  the  town,  and  sent  them  to  the  city  of  Pamiers  to  be 
kept  there  by  Simon  de  Montfort. 

They  there  remained  from  mid-lent  till  the  mcmth  of  Au- 
gust ;  and  in  the  mean  time  took  place  the  siege  of  Lavaur, 
at  which  both  the  two  brotherhoods  of  the  toAvn  assisted,  in 
«pite  of  the  remonstrances  and  opposition  of  the  count,  who  was 
now  fully  aware  of  the  intentions  of  the  legate  and  De  Mont- 
fort toward  him,  and  was  eagerly  preparing,  with  all  his  friends 
and  allies,  for  vigorous  and  determined  resistance. 

The  town  of  Lavaur,  situated  on  the  River  Agout,  in  its 
course  from  the  mountains  toward  the  Tarn,  at  an  equal  dis- 
tance from  Albi  and  Toulouse,  and  now  renowned  for  the 
quantity  and  the  quality  of  the  silk  produced  in  its  environs, 
was  at  that  period  famous  as  one  of  the  principal  places  in 
the  hands  of  the  Albigenses,  the  members  of  which  sect  were 
exceedingly  numerous  within  its  walls. 

The  crusading  array,  swelled  by  an  immense  influx  of  pil- 
grims during  the  spring  of  1211,  was  in  the  first  instance 
destined  to  act  against  Cabaret,  which  had  continually  im- 
peded its  previous  proceedings ;  but  the  commander  in  that 
town,  seeing  that  resistance  was  hopeless  if  attacked  in  the 
early  part  of  the  year,  made  his  peace  with  De  Montfort  in , 
the  end  of  March  or  beginning  of  April,  and  gave  up  the  cas- 
tle with  its  territories,  upon  the  condition  of  receiving  other 
lands  of  equal  value.  De  Montfort  then  immediately  turned 
his  arms  against  Lavaur,  and  laid  siege  to  the  place  early  in 
the  year,  accompanied  by  the  Bishop  of  Paris  and  a  whole 
iost  of  Coucys  and  Courtenays.  The  siege  lasted  long ;  for 
the  garrison  defended  themselves  valiantly,  knowing  that  they 
had  no  mercy  to  expect  from  the  furious  fanatics  who  assail- 
ed them.  Provisions,  too.  were  exceedingly  scarce  in  the  army 
of  the  crusade,  so  that  more  than  once  the  enterprise  was 


200  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

nearly  given  up  in  despair.  Multitudes  of  fresh  crusaders, 
however,  arrived  during  the  progress  of  the  operations,  and 
De  Montfort  and  the  legate  were  ashamed  to  abandon  the 
siege.  At  the  same  time,  however,  the  friends  and  allies  of 
those  within  were  not  idle  ;  and  while  the  Count  of  Toulouse 
applied  himself  diligently  to  cut  ofl'  all  supplies  from  the  he- 
sieging  force,  the  Count  of  Foix,  who  was  now  in  arms  in  self- 
defense,  watched  for  fresh  parties  of  crusaders,  as  they  passed 
through  the  hilly  country  on  their  march  toward  Lavaur. 

A  large  body  of  Germans,  amounting  to  six  thousand  men, 
arrived  at  Carcassonne  toward  the  end  of  April,  and  shortly 
after  set  off  for  Lavaur,  tending  toward  Montjoyre  and  Puy 
Laurens.  They  reached  the  former  place  in  safety ;  but  in- 
telligence of  their  march  had  been  communicated  to  the 
Count  of  Foix,  who  instantly  set  out  by  moonlight  with  what 
troops  he  had  at  command,  and  sent  intimation  to  the  peas- 
antry round  that  he  was  about  to  attack  their  abhorred 
enemies,  the  crusaders.  Multitudes  flocked  to  his  standard 
as  he  passed  on,  till  his  force  amounted  to  several  thousand 
men.  With  these,  he  stationed  himself  in  a  forest,  through 
which  the  Germans  were  obliged  to  pass  on  their  way  to  La- 
vaur, and  waited  impatiently  for  morning.  At  an  early  hour, 
the  crusaders  set  out  from  Montjoyre,  and  very  shortly  after 
entered  the  forest,  marching  in  close  ranks  as  in  an  enemy's 
country ;  but  they  had  proceeded  only  a  short  distance  through 
the  wood,  when  they  were  attacked  on  all  sides  by  the  forces 
of  the  Count  of  Foix,  who  had  with  him  Roger  Bernard,  his 
eldest  85n,  and  Gerard  de  Pepieux,  who  had  already  signalized, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  his  enmity  to  his  former  leader,  De 
Montfort.  The  pilgrims,  there  is  reason  to  suppose,  were  ac- 
companied or  guided  by  several  persons  from  Carcassonne ;  and 
one  of  these,  breaking  through  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  carried 
intelligence  of  the  attack  to  the  army  which  was  besieging  La- 
vaur. De  Montfort  and  the  legate  instantly  mounted  and 
set  out  for  the  scene  of  action,  followed  by  some  fourteen  thou- 
sand men  ;  but  they  arrived  too  late.  Not  a  man  was  left 
alive  and  unwounded  upon  the  field ;  and  it  is  remarked.,  as 
a  singular  fact,  that  only  one  of  the  six  thousand  Germans 
escaped  without  being  kjlled,  or  made  prisoners,  or  disabled 
oy  wounds.  An  immense  quantity  of  rich  arms,  valuable 
baggage  and  treasure,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Count  of 
Foix.  The  country  people  dispersed,  eveiy  man  to  his  home, 
as  soon  as  the  fight  was  over,  and  the  regular  troops  and 
their  leaders  retired  to  Mongiscard  with  their  spoil. 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  ^  201 

Carrying  off  the  wounded  in  carts,  De  Montfbrt  and  the 
legate  returned  to  the  siege  of  Lavaur  full  of  rage  ;  and  the 
crusading  scribes  wrote  the  most  virulent  abuse  of  the  Count 
of  Foix  and  his  son,  for  attacking  those  who  came  to  plunder 
his  territory,  strip  him  of  his  possessions,  and  burn  all  his  sub- 
jects who  differed  with  themselves  in  regard  to  transubstan- 
tiation. 

The  operations  against  Lavaur  became  only  the  more  ve- 
hement ;  and,  though  the  defense  was  gallant  and  undaunt- 
ed, it  proved  unsuccessful  against  the  enormous  force  which 
surrounded  the  place  on  every  side.  The  army  was  soon 
after  swelled  by  the  arrival  of  the  Count  of  Bar,  and  also 
by  that  of  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse.  This  prelate  had  now 
thrown  off  the  mask  toward  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  had,  • 
with  an  indescribable  mixture  of  insolence  and  hypocrisy,  en- 
deavored to  drive  that  prince  out  of  his  own  capital,  declaring 
that  he  could  not  hold  an  ordination,  which  he  intended  to 
perform,  so  long  as  the  count  was  in  the  town,  he  being  ex- 
communicate, and  "  advising  and  begging  him  humbly  to  go 
out  of  the  place  and  amuse  himself  elsewhere." 

This  exhausted  the  patience  even  of  Raymond  ;  and  he  at 
once  sent  one  of  his  knights  to  the  bishop,  to  tell  him  to  quit 
the  city  himself  without  a  moment's  delay. 

The  bishop  sent  back  a  reply  as  insolent  and  hypocritical 
as  his  first  message,  dared  the  count  to  turn  him  out,  and,  as- 
suming that  he  would  attempt  to  murder  him,  gave  himself 
the  airs  of  a  voluntary  martyr.  He  remained  thus  for  forty 
days  in  Toulouse,  till  at  length,  finding  that  he  could  not  pro- 
voke the  count  to  any  act  of  violence,  he  retired  to  join  the 
legate  and  De  Montfbrt  under  the  walls  of  Lavaur.  The 
town  was  shortly  after  taken  by  assault,  and  every  one  put  to 
the  sword,  men,  women,  and  even  iafants,  except,  indeed,  a 
small  party  of  ladies  and  young  children,  who  had  taken  ref- 
uge in  a  place  of  security,  and  were  spared  by  De  Montfort 
at  the  entreaty  of  one  of  his  noble  allies.  All  the  male  pris- 
oners were  afterward  slaughtered  in  cold  blood ;  and  some 
women,  also,  were  killed. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  legate  and  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse 
had  been  dealing  with  the  inhabitants  of  that  city  in  a  man- 
ner for  which  we  must  recur  to  the  letter  of  the  magistrates 
to  the  King  of  Aragon.  "  Informed  with  perfect  certainty," 
says  that  document,  "  by  the  report  of  many  persons,  that  it 
was  their  intention  to  march  their  army  against  us,  we  sent 
them  prudent  men  from  among  our  consuls,  who,  in  the  pres- 

12 


202       DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

ence  of  the  legates,  of  Fulk  our  bishop,  and  of  the  array  of 
the  barons,  declared  that  we  were  very  much  astonished  that 
they  intended  to  march  their  army  against  us,  since  we  were 
prepared  to  do  and  to  observe  all  that  we  had  promised  to 
the  Church,  and  seeing,  above  all,  that  since  the  oath  we  had 
taken,  since  we  had  been  reconciled  to  the  Church,  and  our 
hostages  had  been  received,  we  had  in  nothing  offended  either 
the  barons  or  the  Church.  On  hearing  this,  the  legate,  and 
Fulk  our  bishop,  replied,  that  it  was  not  on  account  of  any 
crime  or  fault  of  ours  that  they  intended  to  march  the  army 
upon  us,  but  because  we  still  kept  for  our  master  the  lord 
count,  and  received  him  into  our  town  ;  but  that,  if  we  would 
drive  our  lord  the  count  out  of  our  town,  with  his  supporters, 
renounce  him,  and  withdraw  from  his  domination  and  our  al- 
legiance, and  swear  fidelity  and  submission  to  those  whom 
the  Church  had  given  us  for  lords,  then  the  army  of  the  cru- 
saders would  not  do  us  any  harm  ;  but  that,  if  we  did  other- 
wise, they  would  attack  us  with  all  their  power,  and  would 
hold  us  for  heretics  and  concealers  of  heretics." 

The  people  of  Toulouse  unanimously  refused  to  follow  the 
cowardly  and  treacherous  course  pointed  out  to  them  ;  and 
the  legate  and  the  bishop  immediately  enjoined  the  clergy  of 
the  city  to  withdraw  from  it  in  a  body,  pubUcly  carrying  the 
host  out  of  the  place.  To  the  account  given  of  the  departure 
of  the  clergy,  the  witty  Toulosains  add  the  remark,  "  and  then 
we  pacified  all  the  discords  and  dissensions  which  had  existed 
for  a  very  long  time  in  our  town  and  suburb,  and,  by  the  aid 
of  divine  grace,  re-established  union  and  concord  in  our  whole 
city,  as  well  as  it  had  ever  been." 

Nevertheless,  the  fall  of  Lavaur,  and  the  terror  inspired  by 
the  frightful  acts  of  the  crusaders,  induced  the  commanders 
of  a  great  number  of  neighboring  places  to  submit  to  De  Mont- 
fort  and  his  barbarous  companions.  Puy  Laurens,  a  strong 
place  within  three  leagues  of  Lavaur,  was  abandoned  by  its 
garrison,  and  immediately  taken  possession  of  by  De  Mont- 
fort.  This  town  being,  without  dispute,  within  the  territory 
of  Toulouse,  the  seizing  upon  it  was  an  open  act  of  war  against 
the  count.  Casser  was  also  taken  by  assault,  and  sixty  per- 
sons found  within  its  walls  burned  without  mercy.  Mont- 
joyre  was  taken  and  destroyed  by  the  crusaders ;  and  Ray- 
mond of  Toulouse  burned  down  his  own  beautiful  city  of  Cas- 
telnaudary,  in  order  to  prevent  it  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  De  Montfort,  however,  took  possession  of  the  place  ; 
and,  seeing  its  importance  to  the  defense  of  the  territories  he 


THEA.LBIGENSBS.  208 

had  acquired,  rebuilt  the  walls,  or  probably  merely  repaired 
them,  as  the  time  he  stayed  was  too  short  for  any  great  work 
to  be  accomplished. 

A  number  of  other  small  places  fell  into  his  hands ;  and 
De  Montfort  also  succeeded  in  inducing  Baldwin,  the  brother 
of  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  to  betray  the  count  and  league  with 
his  adversaries,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  most  needed  aid 
and  assistance. 

The  history  of  this  prince  is  somewhat  curious.  He  was, 
it  would  appear,  born  in  France,  after  the  mother  of  the 
count  had  returned  to  her  native  land ;  and  he  was  also  edu- 
cated in  that  country,  never  setting  foot  in  Languedoc  till  he 
had  reached  man's  estate.  He  then  presented  himself  some- 
what suddenly  to  his  brother  Raymond,  who  at  first  refused 
to  recognize  him ;  and  Baldwin  returned  to  Paris  to  obtain 
proofs  of  his  legitimacy.  With  these  he  once  more  sought 
his  brother,  who  now  admitted  his  claim,  employed  him  in 
the  wars  which  were  at  that  time  going  on,  and  in  the  end, 
when  menaced  by  the  army  of  the  crusaders,  placed  him  with 
a  strong  garrison  in  the  town  of  Mont-ferrand,  which  was  per- 
fectly capable  of  resisting  a  long  siege. 

Shortly  after  the  fall  of  Casser,  Mont-ferrand  was  invested, 
and  at  first  a  vigorous  resistance  was  made  ;  but  De  Mont- 
fort induced  Baldwin  to  come  forth  to  a  secret  conference,  and 
held  out  such  advantages  to  him,  on  the  condition  of  his  aban- 
doning his  brother's  party,  that  Mont-ferrand  was  surrendered 
immediately  to  the  arms  of  the  crusaders.  This,  however, 
was  but  the  first  fruit  of  the  negotiation,  for  there  was  evi- 
dently a  prospective  understanding  between  De  Montfort  and 
Baldwin.  The  latter  retired  with  his  troops  to  Toulouse, 
and  presented  himself  before  his  brother  ;  but  Raymond  had 
received  intelligence  of  his  treaty  with  De  Montfort,  reproach- 
ed him  bitterly  with  the  cowardly  surrender  of  Mont-ferrand, 
charged  him  openly  with  having  sworn  fidelity  to  his  mortal 
enemy,  and  commanded  him  to  quit  his  presence,  and  never 
appear  before  him  again.  Baldvdn  took  him  at  his  word,  and, 
retiring  with  what  men  he  could  gather  together,  seized  upon 
the  town  and  castle  of  Bruniquel,  which  belonged  to  his  broth- 
er, and  allied  himself  closely  with  De  Montfort  from  that  mo- 
ment. The  whole  frontiers  of  the  county  of  Toulouse,  except 
on  the  side  of  the  Pyrenees,  were  now  in  the  hands  of  De 
Montfort ;  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  presence  of  a  firesh 
body  of  crusaders,  he  prepared  to  attack  the  capital  itself. 


204  DARKSCENBSOFHISTORY. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

%   ■ 

THE    ALBIGENSES. 

The  Count  of  Toulouse  had  not  been  idle  while  the  army 
of  De  Montfort  and  the  legate  was  making  progress  in  the 
diocese  of  Albi.  He  had  called  to  his  aid  all  the  friends  on 
whojn  he  could  most  depend,  and  had  collected  a  strong  force, 
both  of  cavalry  and  infantry,  in  the  town  of  Toulouse.  His 
principal  companions  were  the  Count  of  Foix  and  the  Count 
of  Comminges  ;  and  we  find  that  he  could  bring  five  hundred 
knights  into  the  field,  besides  a  strong  force  of  infantry,  with- 
out depriving  the  city  itself  of  the  garrison  necessary  for  its 
defense.  The  whole  population  of  the  town  was  eager  and 
resolute  in  support  of  his  cause  ;  and,  always  of  a  warlike  and 
enterprising  character,  the  citizens  were  hardly  inferior  in  the 
field  to  regular  soldiers.  Thus  they  viewed  the  approach  of 
De  Montfort  and  his  army  without  fear,  and  prepared  even 
to  meet  them  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city,  notwithstanding 
the  overwhelming  numbers  of  the  crusaders. 

The  force  under  the  command  of  the  legate  and  his  gener- 
al had  been  swelled  by  the  arrival  of  the  Count  of  Bar  with 
a  large  army,  and  by  the  junction  of  a  considerable  body  of 
men  under  the  Count  of  Chalons.  Immediately  after  the  ap- 
pearance of  these  two  great  barons  in  the  field,  a  council  of 
war  was  held,  and  it  was  determined  to  march  at  once  upon 
Toulouse ;  but  the  camp  of  De  Montfort  was  not  free  from 
the  spies  of  the  enemy,  and  intelligence  was  immediately 
brought  to  Raymond  of  all  the  plans  of  the  crusaders.  The 
bridges  over  the  Lers  and  the  Arrieges  were  broken  down, 
and  the  fords  were  guarded  by  strong  bodies  of  the  Toulou- 
sians.  At  one  point,  however,  a  bridge  was  neglected,  and 
the  army  of  De  Montfort  appeared  while  the  troops  of  Tou- 
louse were  engaged  in  destroying  it.  A  skirmish  ensued,  in 
which  the  numbers  of  the  crusaders  overpowered  the  enemy, 
though  not  without  sufiering  considerable  loss  ;  and  the  army 
passed  the  river,  detaching  a  large  body  of  horse  to  follow  the 
retreating  forces  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse.  Before  he  reach- 
ed the  gates  of  his  capital,  however,  Raymond,  who  had  re- 
tired in  perfect  order,  halted  his  forces,  made  a  gallant  charge 
upon  the  pursuers,  drove  them  back  again  to  a  camp  on  the 


THE  ALBIGJiNSES.  205 

bank  of  the  river,  where  the  great  mass  of  Do  Montfort's 
forces  had  halted,  and  then  slowly  retreated  to  the  city,  tak- 
ing with  him  a  number  of  prisoners,  among  whom  was  one 
of  the  sons  of  De  Montfort  himself. 

On  the  following  morning  De  Montfort  advanced  almost  to 
the  gates  of  Toulouse,  and  pitched  his  camp  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  walls ;  but  this  day  was  to  be  marked  by 
every  sort  of  horror  and  barbarity  that  could  disgrace  the  arms 
of  the  crusaders.  The  unofi(3nding  peasantry  laboring  in  the 
fields  were  slaughtered  without  mercy  or  discrimination. 
M,en,  women,  and  even  children  were  butchered  wherever 
they  were  found.  Cottages,  villages,  farms,  and  country 
houses,  the  citizens  of  Toulouse  inform  us,  were  burned  to 
the  ground ;  and,  exercising  their  rage  even  upon  inanimate 
things,  De  Montfort  and  the  legate,  with  folly  not  less  than 
their  wickedness,  ordered  the  whole  standing  crops  to  be  de- 
stroyed, and  the  vines  cut  down  or  plucked  up  by  the  roots. 
This  conduct  created  no  fear  or  hesitation  in  the  minds  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Toulouse,  but  only  rendered  them  more  resolute 
in  resisting  the  barbarous  enemies  by  whom  they  were  assail- 
ed. So  far  from  showing  the  slightest  dread,  they  opened 
four  new  gates  in  their  walls,  in  order  to  issue  forth  with 
greater  ease,  and  attack  the  enemy  in  various  directions  at 
once. 

Immediately  after  the  arrival  of  the  army  of  the  crusade 
under  the  walls,  De  Montfort,  trusting  in  his  immense  force, 
ordered  his  troops  to  make  a  general  attack  ;  and  they  ad- 
vanced with  their  usual  fury,  under  cover  of  great  bucklers 
of  boiled  leather.  The  troops  in  the  town,  however,  issued 
forth  to  encounter  the  enemies  as  they  approached,  drove  them 
back  with  shame  and  confusion^  and  carried  several  of  their 
great  bucklers  into  the  town.  The  Count  of  Foix,  who  seems 
to  have  commanded  the  sally,  although  his  horse  was  killed 
under  him  and  one  of  his  most  gallant  knights  slain  by  his 
side,  pursued  his  advantage,  and  chased  the  retreating  enemy 
even  beyond  their  own  camp  :  nor  did  he  cease  the  combat 
till  night  fell  and  he  was  forced  to  retire. 

The  rage  of  De  Montfort  exceeded  all  bounds  ;  for,  besides 
having  lost  an  immense  number  in  killed  and  wounded,  two 
hundred  prisoners,  among  whom  were  several  persons  of  dis- 
tinction, were  carried  away  into  the  town.  He  still  made 
vigorous  efibrts,  however,  to  retrieve  the  honor  of  his  arms, 
and  more  successful  efforts,  likewise,  to  avenge  himself  upon  his 
opponents,  by  the  destruction  of  their  property.     He  ravaged 


206  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

the  fields  and  vineyards  for  many  miles  around  ;  but  he  made 
no  impression  on  the  town  of  Toulouse  ;  and  the  inhabitants, 
enraged  at  the  excesses  he  committed,  determined  to  issue  forth 
and  attack  him  in  his  camp,  even  in  spite  of  the  remonstran- 
ces of  tlieir  count.  Placing  themselves  under  the  command 
of  the  seneschal  of  Agen,  they  sallied  out  a  short  time  after 
the  jiiid-day  meal,  at  an  hour  when  the  troops  of  the  crusade 
were  accustomed  to  take  repose  during  the  heat  of  the  day, 
and,  attacking  the  camp  with  the  utmost  fury,  for  some  time 
carried  all  before  them,  killing  the  crusaders  in  their  tents, 
and  taking  possession  of  an  immense  quantity  of  arms,  horses, 
plate,  and  money.  Several  of  the  garrison  of  Toulouse,  who 
had  been  made  prisoners,  were  freed  from  their  chains ;  and 
the  Count  of  Foix,  learning  what  was  taking  place,  issued 
forth  with  all  the  troops  under  his  command,  to  support  the 
party  who  had  made  the  attack.  His  arrival  completed  the 
confusion  in  the  crusading  camp  ;  and  it  was  long  before  the 
Count  of  Bar  and  De  Montfort  could  gather  together  a  suffi- 
cient force  to  oppose  any  thing  like  a  regular  and  well-ordered 
resistance.  As  soon,  however,  as  one  battalion  was  formed,  a 
rallying  point  was  given  for  the  whole  host  of  the  crusade ; 
and  seeing  that  they  would  be  soon  overpowered  by  numbers, 
the  seneschal  of  Agen  and  the  Count  of  Foix  collected  their 
parties,  and  retired  in  good  order  to  Toulouse,  taking  with 
them  a  valuable  booty  and  a  number  of  prisoners. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  would  appear,  dissensions  had  broken 
out  between  De  Montfort  and  the  Count  of  Bar ;  and  the 
consequences  of  the  devastation  of  the  country  fell  upon  its 
authors.  None  of  the  peasantry  would  bring  in  provisions  to 
the  camp,  and  the  parties  sent  out  to  forage  were  cut  oft'  by 
bodies  of  troops  from  the  town.  Famine  began  to  show  itself 
in  De  Montfort's  host,  and  the  price  of  bread  rose  till  it  could 
not  be  purchased  for  the  common  soldiers. 

Both  the  Counts  Chalons  and  of  Bar,  having  witnessed 
with  their  own  eyes  the  conduct  of  the  legate  and  De  Mont- 
fort, became  convinced  of  the  baseness  of  their  motives,  and 
raised  their  voices  loudly  against  the  iniquity  of  their  proceed- 
ngs,  recommending  them  strongly  to  make  peace  with  the 
^ount  of  Toulouse  and  his  aUies,  and  announcing  their  determ- 
ination to  depart  immediately. 

In  these  circumstances,  nothing  remained  but  to  raise  the 
siege  ;  and  on  the  1st  of  August,  St.  Peter's  day,*  the  army 

•  Monoeor  Guizot  places  the  retreat  of  De  Montfort  in  the  month 
^f  July;  but  the  letter  of  the  inhabitants  of  Tmilonse,  who  certainly 


.4- 


THE    ALBIGBNSES.  207 

of  the  crusade  disappeared  from  beneath  the  walls  of  Toulouse, 
striking  their  tents  in  the  night,  and  making  a  precipitate  and 
undignified  retreat.  The  mortification  of  De  Montfort  found 
vent  in  fresh  excesses,  and  turning  his  steps  toward  the  county 
of  Foix,  he  ravaged  and  desolated  the  whole  land  in  the  most 
barbarous  manner.  The  Count  of  Chalons  quitted  him  im- 
mediately with  all  his  forces,  **  for  he  saw  well,"  says  the  his- 
torian, "  that  the  legate  and  the  Count  de  Montfort  had  no 
just  cause  or  quarrel  to  eat  people  up  as  they  did."  The  Count 
of  Bar,  however,  continued  some  time  longer  with  the  legate, 
though  in  daily  dispute  with  De  Montfort,  and  scandalously 
abused  by  the  partisans  of  the  latter. 

Several  small  places  were  taken  and  retaken ;  and  every 
cruelty  that  reUgious  fanaticism,  joined  with  merciless  cupid- 
ity, could  suggest,  was  inflicted  on  the  unhappy  people  of  the 
towns.  After  having  exercised  all  his  savage  propensities  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Foix,  burned  the  towns  and  their  inhab- 
itants, destroyed  the  crops,  hewn  down  the  vines  and  fruit- 
trees,  and  put  the  country  people  to  the  sword,  De  Montfort 
turned  his  steps  toward  Quercy,  at  the  invitation  of  the  Bishop 
of  Cahors.  The  Count  of  Bar,  however,  now  positively  re- 
fused to  go  with  him  any  further,  and  left  him  with  all  his 
forces,  except  a  body  of  Germans,  who  agreed  to  remain  with 
the  crusaders  for  a  short  time  longer.  While  engaged  in  his 
expedition  to  Quercy,  the  town  of  Puy  Laurens  was  snatched 
from  the  hands  of  De  Montfort  by  the  Count  of  Toulouse, 
who  was  now  making  vigorous  preparations  for  carrying  on 
an  ofiensive  as  well  as  a  defensive  war  against  his  enemies. 
Friends  and  partisans  flocked  to  his  aid  as  soon  as  it  was 
known  that  he  had  actually  been  driven  to  that  resistance 
which,  had  it  commenced  two  years  earlier,  might  have  proved 
successful.  Among  the  rest  was  the  celebrated  Savary  de 
Mauleon,  a  leader  of  the  highest  repute,  who  joined  him 
with  a  large  band  of  Gascon  nobility.* 

must  have  known  the  exact  time,  ^xes  it  on  St.  Peter's  day,  the  Ist  of 
August,  before  daybreak. 

*  This  officer  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  in  the  wars  between 
"^England  and  France,  and  has  never  been  at  all  suspected  of  favoring 
heresy  or  deviating  into  schism,  yet  such  was  the  candor,  Christian 
charity,  and  good  feith  of  the  crusaders  who  took  the  pen  in  hand  to 
chronicle  the  achievements  of  De  Montfoi-t,  that  we  find  him  thus  stig- 
matized by  Vaulx  Cemay  solely  because  he  came  to  aid  his  friend  and 
ally,  Raymond  of  Toulouse.  He  calls  him  "  That  very  wicked  apostate 
and  prevaricator,  son  of  the  devil  in  iniquity,  minister  of  Anti-Christ, 
Savary  de  Mauleon,  surpassing  all  other  heretics,  worse  than  an  infidel, 
enemy  of  Jesus  Christ,  prince  of  apostasy,  artificer  of  cruelty,  author 


208  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

The  forces  of  De  Montfort  had  waned  as  Raymond's  had 
increased,  and  when  the  Germans  withdrew  toward  the  ap- 
proach of  winter,  the  army  of  the  crusade  was  diminished  to 
a  mere  skeleton  of  its  former  self  In  these  circumstances,  De 
Montfort  retreated  to  Carcassonne ;  and  a  number  of  small 
places  was  recovered  by  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  who,  pursu- 
ing his  advantage,  marched  onward  with  the  purpose  of  at- 
tacking his  enemy  in  Carcassonne.  De  Montfort,  however, 
who  possessed,  at  least,  the  virtue  of  high  courage  in  a  very 
remarkable  degree,  threw  himself  into  Castelnaudary,  with 
the  determination  of  defending  it  to  the  last.  The  fortifica- 
tions of  that  place  had  now  been  completely  repaired ;  and, 
Mtuated  on  a  high  hill  between  Carcassonne  and  Toulouse,  it 
"Was,  perhaps,  the  most  advantageous  point  in  which  he  could 
have  posted  himself  in  order  to  defend  the  frontier  of  the  vis- 
county of  Beziers.  A  small  garrison  only  was  required  to 
maintain  this  post ;  and  it  afforded  a  convenient  rallying-point 
for  the  various  bodies  of  crusaders  scattered  over  Quercy,  the 
Toulousains,  and  the  Albigeois. 

If  the  army  of  Raymond  of  Toulouse  was  as  great  as  his 
enemies  represent  it,  numbering  a  hundred  thousand  men,  he 
certainly  committed  a  great  mistake  in  not  advancing  upon 
Carcassonne,  and  leaving  a  sufficient  force  to  mask  Castel- 
naudary ;  for  the  former  important  place  was  unprovided  for 
defense.  But  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  his  numbers 
have  been  greatly  exaggerated.  However  that  may  be,  the 
siege  of  Castelnaudary  was  soon  established  in  form,  though 
it  does  not  appear  that  the  place  was  completely  invested  ; 
for,  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  succor  speedily  arrived  to  De 
Montfort;  and  many  large  bodies  of  troops  forced  their  way 
into  the  place.  A  considerable  force,  led  by  the  Bishop  of 
Cahors,  Bouchard  de  Marly,  and  some  other  noblemen,  was 
attacked  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Martin  by  the  Count  of 
Foix,  and  a  sanguinary  engagement  ensued,  in  which,  it  would 
seem,  success  inclined  toward  the  forces  of  Toulouse,  although 
night  separated  the  combatants. 

Shortly  after  this  event,  however,  Raymond  of  Toulouse 
raised  the  siege  of  Castelnaudary,  for  what  reason  we  do  not 
exactly  know,  as  it  is  clear  that  he  had  obtained  possession  of 
one  of  the  suburbs  of  the  town,  and  that  the  walls  of  the  place 
were  greq,tly  damaged.  Raymond,  indeed,  suffered  under  a 
great  disadvantage  from  the  major  part  of  his  troops  being 

of  pcrveraity,  opprobrium  of  munkiud,  diabolical  man,  dovil  altogeth- 
er.      Thare  are  more  of  such  epithets ;  but  these  are  eiibugh. 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  209 

mere  volunteers,  led  to  his  assistance  by  princes  and  noblemen 
over  whom  Iiq  had  no  control.  Insubordination  seems  to  have 
been  complete  in  his  camp,  every  leader  doing  exactly  what 
he  thought  fit,  without  consulting  the  unfortunate  count  him- 
self. This  was  strongly  exemplified  by  the  combat  of  St. 
Martin,  in  which  the  Count  of  Foix  engaged  without  the 
knowledge  of  his  ally.  Indeed,  so  ignorant  were  Raymond 
and  Savary  de  Mauleon  of  what  had  become  of  their  friend, 
that  when  the  Count  of  Foix  arrived  in  the  camp  at  night 
he  found  they  had  given  orders  to  take  down  the  tents  and 
prepare  for  a  retreat,  thinking  that  he  and  his  troops  had  ei- 
ther abandoned  them,  or  had  been  surprised  and  put  to  the 
sword. 

Although  successful  in  retaining  possession  of  Castelnau- 
dary,  De  Montfort  was  evidently  in  no  position  to  commence 
offensive  operations  against  the  Count  of  Toulouse ;  for,  ac- 
cord mg  to  the  account  even  of  his  companion  and  eulogist,  he 
retired  to  Narbonne,  while  the  Count  of  Toulouse  and  his 
friends  overran  the  whole  country  to  the  north  and  west  of 
the  viscounty,  and  with  extraordinary  rapidity  made  them- 
selves masters  of^o  less  than  seventeen  strong  towns,  besides 
more  than  fifty  small  fortresses  and  castles. 

One  of  these  towns,  named  Grave,  which  had  been  recov- 
ered by  the  count,  was  almost  immediately  retaken  for  the 
party  of  De  Montfort  by  Raymond's  brother  Baldwin,  who, 
treacherously  assuming  the  arms  of  the  count  himself,  obtain- 
ed admission  with  a  large  party  of  troops,  and  slaughtered  his 
brother's  garrison  without  mercy,  although  we  find  it  record- 
ed that,  at  the  very  same  time,  the  Count  of  Toulouse  him- 
self refused  to  attack  the  town  of  Bnmiquel,  because  he  believ- 
ed that  Baldvdn  was  in  it. 

The  spring  of  1211  brought  great  re-enforcements  to  the 
army  of  the  crusade.  Monks,  priests,  and  bishops  were  en- 
gaged in  all  parts  of  Europe,  exhorting  a  superstitious  people 
to  rush  to  the  destruction  of  the  Albigenses ;  and  we  find 
leaders  from  every  Roman  Catholic  country  engaged  in  this 
unholy  war,  not  even  excepting  England  itself,  which  sent 
Walter  Langton,  brother  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
Very  early  in  that  year  a  large  body  of  French  crusaders 
joined  De  Montfort  at  Narbonne ;  and,  toward  the  feast  of 
Pentecost,  he  once  more  took  the  field  to  recover  all  that  had 
been  lost  during  the  autumn  of  1210.  Cahusac  was  speedily 
regained ;  and,  calling  to  his  aid  the  faithless  brother  of  the 
Count  of  Toulouse,  he  laid  siege  to  the  town  of  St.  Marcel ; 


210  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

but,  after  continuing  his  operations  against  it  for  some  weeks, 
he  was  obliged  to  strike  his  tents  and  depart.  This  check, 
however,  was  soon  more  than  compensated  by  the  arrival  of 
two  immense  swarms  of  crusaders  from  Germany  and  Lom- 
bardy,  and  every  thing  which  had  been  lost  was  regained. 
The  same  horrid  cruelties  were  committed  as  those  which  had 
previously  marked  the  march  of  the  crusading  armies ;  and 
we  find  recorded  a  sanguinary  execution  of  the  inhabitants  of 
every  town  taken  by  De  Montfort,  with  the  exception  of  St. 
Antoine  and  one  or  two  small  places. 

Every  day  the  forces  of  the  crusade  increased,  and  town 
after  town  tell  before  them,  till  at  length  the  small  city  and 
castle  of  Penne  proved  a  stumbling-block  in  their  way,  and 
detained  them  under  its  walls  for  nearly  two  months.  The 
want  of  water  and  provisions  at  length  compelled  the  garrison 
to  surrender  upon  an  honorable  capitulation,  and  they  march- 
ed out  with  all  they  possessed.  The  town  of  Biron  was  tak- 
en almost  immediately  afterward,  and  Peter  Algais,  who  had 
abandoned  the  party  of  the  crusaders,  and  received  the  com- 
mand from  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  was  d^awn  through  De 
Montfort's  camp  at  the  heels  of  a  horse,  and  then  hanged. 
Still,  the  forces  of  the  legate  and  his  companions  increased, 
and  Moissac,  Verdun,  and  Castel  Sarrasin  fell  into  their 
hands. 

In  all  of  these  transactions,  one  of  the  most  active  enemies 
of  the  Count  of  Toulouse  was  his  brother  Baldwin  ;  and,  to  all 
appearance,  the  unnatural  war  he  carried  on  was  not  without 
profit  to  himself. 

Against  the  immense  force  which  was  now  in  the  field  the 
Count  of  Toulouse  and  his  allies  could  do  nothing  except  carry 
on  a  desultory  warfare  on  the  side  of  Foix,  where  the  whole 
country,  which  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  De  Montfort,  re- 
volted against  its  oppressor  as  soon  as  its  natural  lord  appear- 
ed. Castle  after  castle,  and  town  after  town  was  taken,  till 
De  Montfort,  who  was  vainly  besieging  Mont  Auban,  march- 
ed with  an  immense  force  to  recover  the  county  of  Foix. 
Every  thing  fell  before  him,  except  the  town  of  Foix  itself, 
which  set  all  his  efibrts  at  defiance ;  and  he  was  obliged  to 
retire  to  Pamiers,  when  the  army  of  the  crusade  began  to  dis- 
perse, as  usual,  at  the  commencement  of  winter.  Their  sep- 
aration, however,  was  not  so  complete  now  as  on  most  other 
occasions,  and  a  good  many  operations  were  undertaken  in  the 
decline  of  the  year.  The  territories  of  the  Count  of  Commin- 
gea  were  ravaged  ;  and  the  towns  of  Muret,  St.  Gaudens,  and 


THE    ALBIGEN8ES.  211 

several  smaller  places  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  crusaders.  On 
the  other  hand,  however,  the  Count  of  Toulouse  himself  took 
the  tow^n  of  Pujol  by  assault,  and  put  the  whole  garrison  to 
the  sword  without  mercy.  Skirmishes  innumerable  took 
place  in  the  open  country,  and  the  eldest  son  of  the  Count  of 
Foix,  as  active  and  as  valiant  as  his  father,  harassed  the  en- 
emy incessantly. 

Nevertheless,  the  crusade,  though  driven  back  from  time  to 
time,  like  the  waves  of  the  rising  sea,  still  made  progress 
against  the  territories  of  Foix,  Comminges,  and  Toulouse  ; 
and,  as  a  last  resource,  Raymond  determined  to  apply  to  the 
King  of  Aragon  for  military  aid  in  his  distressing  situation. 

It  was  probably  about  the  same  time,  and  in  order  to 
strengthen  the  application  of  their  count,  that  the  magistrates 
of  Toulouse  wrote  the  well-known  letter,  which  I  have  quoted 
more  than  once,  to  the  same  prince. 

Peter,  king  of  Aragon,  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
warriors  of  his  age,  bold,  courageous,  and  enterprising,  fond 
of  all  military  sports,  and  no  mean  poet  in  his  native  language. 
His  renown  in  arms  had  been  principally  gained  against  the 
Saracens  of  Spain,  whom  he  had  defeated  with  a  terrible 
slaughter,  only  a  short  time  before  the  application  of  his  re- 
lation, the  Count  of  Toulouse.  The  voice  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  had  been  raised  loudly  in  his  praise  for  his  signal  deeds 
in  defense  of  the  Church.  The  trophies  of  his  victory  were 
hung  up  in  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Peter.  He  was  called  the 
Illustrious  and  the  most  Christian ;  but  all  the  honey  was 
turned  to  gall  the  moment  he  espoused  the  cause  of  Raymond 
of  Toulouse.  From  thenceforth  he  is  stigmatized  as  perverse, 
obstinate,  even  heretic.  Peter  of  Aragon,  however,  was  not 
to  be  frightened  by  hard  names,  nor  deterred  by  ecclesiastical 
censures;  and  during  the  winter  of  1213,  he  crossed  the 
mountains  and  presented  himself  in  Toulouse,  both  to  take 
counsel  with  his  brother-in-law  and  to  endeavor  to  obtain  for 
him,  from  the  Church  of  Rome,  the  justice  so  often  denied 
him,  and  the  restitution  of  the  territories  of  which  he  had 
been  stripped.  After  conferring  with  Raymond  and  the 
Counts  of  Foix  and  Comminges,  he  proceeded  to  a  spot  half 
way  between  Toulouse  and  Lavaur,  where  he  was  met  by 
Simon  de  Montfort  and  the  legate.  The  conference  which 
ensued  was  without  any  great  result,  the  Archbishop  of  Nar- 
bonne  demanding  that  the  King  of  Aragon  should  send  in  a 
specification  of  that  which  he  desired  in  writing,  and  a  truce 
of  eight  days  was  granted  to  draw  up  the  proposal  of  the  king. 


212  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

A  few  days  after,  a  letter  from  the  King  of  Aragon  was 
presented  to  the  council,  far  more  moderate  and  even  humble 
than  might  have  been  expected  from  his  power,  his  high  re- 
nown, and  his  close  connection  with  the  person  for  whom  he 
pleaded.  In  the  name  of  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  of  the  Count 
of  Comminges,  the  Count  of  Foix,  and  Gaston  of  Beam,  he 
offered  to  make  full  satisfaction  to  the  Church  of  Rome  for 
any  excesses  committed  or  damage  done  by  themselves  or  their 
adherents ;  and  he  demanded  that  their  territories  should, 
upon  this  condition,  be  restored  to  them.  In  tlie  case  of  the 
Count  of  Toulouse,  he  offered  an  alternative,  namely,  that 
if  the  Church  thought  fit  to  refuse  the  restoration  of  that 
prince's  territories  to  himself,  that  tljey  should  immediately 
put  his  son  in  possession  thereof  under  careful  guardianship, 
while  the  count  in  person  should  not  only  make  the  promised 
compensation  for  all  evil  done,  but  should  lead  a  body  of  troops 
either  against  the  Saracens  of  Spain,  or  to  aid  in  the  recovery 
of  the  Holy  Land  ;  and  he  hinted,  in  exceedingly  gentle  but 
firm  terms,  that  if  these  conditions  were  refused,  he  should 
be  obliged  to  aid  his  relations,  his  vassals,  and  alUes. 

The  council,  resolved  to  strip  the  Count  of  Toulouse  and 
his  friends  of  all  their  possessions,  refused  the  demands  of  the 
King  of  Aragon,  imputing  as  a  crime  to  the  Count  of  Tou- 
louse and  his  adherents  the  defense  of  their  own  territories. 
The  king  then  demanded  a  suspension  of  arms  till  the  day  of 
Pentecost  following ;  but  this  application  was  also  rejected ; 
and  Peter  of  Aragon  then  publicly  announced  to  the  legates 
that  he  took  the  oppressed  princes  under  his  protection,  ap- 
pealing at  the  same  time  from  the  decision  of  the  Council  of 
Lavaur  to  the  pope  in  person. 

The  Archbishop  of  Narbonne  answered  in  a  letter  full  of 
hypocritical  insolence ;  but  the  King  of  Aragon  had,  in  tho 
mean  time,  sent  off  messengers  to  Rome,  and  had  obtained 
from  the  pope  himself  an  order  for  the  legates  to  restore  the 
territories  of  the  Counts  of  Comminges  and  Foix,  and  of  Gas- 
ton of  Beam,  to  cease  proceeding  against  the  Count  of  Tou- 
louse, and  to  stop  the  preaching  of  tiie  crusade. 

Very  little  attention,  however,  waa  paid  to  these  demands. 
The  crusade  was  preached  as  befoie.  The  territories  were 
not  restored  ;  and  the  war  was  earned  on  upon  the  pretense 
that  the  pope  had  been  deceived,  wnile  letters  were  sent  to 
his  holiness  to  dissuade  hirn  irom  the  more  moderate  measures 
he  was  inclined  to  pursue. 

The  King  of  Aragon  then  formally  defied  De  Montfort, 


THE  ALBIGENSES.  213 

and  prepared  to  give  armed  assistance  to  the  Count  of  Tou- 
louse ;  but  the  preaching  of  the  crusade  was  now  more  suc- 
cessful than  ever.  Honors,  dignities,  lands,  and  lordships  had 
fallen  to  the  lot  of  those  who  had  carried  on  the  butchery  in 
Languedoc  with  the  greatest  zeal ;  and  an  immense  number, 
actuated  by  the  mixed  motives  of  ambition  and  fanaticism, 
took  the  cross  in  all  parts  of  France.  The  principal  of  these 
was  Prince  Louis,  the  son  of  Philip  Augustus  ;  and,  although 
the  ambitious  schemes  of  his  father  still  detained  him  in  the 
North,  his  example  was  highly  useful  to  the  designs  of  the 
legates. 

Thus,  during  the  spring  of  1213,  an  immense  force  of  cru- 
saders poured  into  Languedoc,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
King  of  Aragon,  having  left  a  small  body  of  knights  to  sup- 
port the  Count  of  Toulouse,  gathered  together  an  army  in  his 
own  territory,  and  repassed  the  mountains  in  the  commence- 
ment of  September. 

The  town  and  castle  of  Muret,  on  the  higher  Garonne, 
about  three  leagues  above  Toulouse,  had  been  captured  by  the 
crusaders  some  time  before.  The  fortress  had  been  greatly 
strengthened,  and  was  strongly  garrisoned ;  and  the  troops 
which  it  contained  made  daily  excursions  almost  to  the  gates 
of  Toulouse.  Before  this  city,  the  united  armies  of  Langue- 
doc and  Aragon  sat  down  on  the  11th  of  September,  1213  ; 
and,  in  a  furious  assault,  which  took  place  shortly  after,  the 
town  was  taken,  and  the  garrison  driven  into  the  citadel. 
The  citadel  itself,  it  would  appear,  might  also  have  been 
taken ;  but  the  King  of  Aragon,  hearing  that  De  Montfort 
•  was  hastening  to  its  assistance,  had  recourse  to  a  stratagem 
which  proved  ruinous  to  himself  Knowing  that  his  own 
forces  were  greatly  superior  in  number,  he  resolved  to  allow 
De  Montfort  to  enter  the  place  unopposed,  hoping  to  capture 
him  and  his  whole  company  within  the  walls  of  Muret.  He, 
therefore,  commanded  his  troops  to  withdraw  from  the  town, 
and  to  leave  the  passage  of  the  bridge  undisputed.  Shortly 
after,  a  considerable  force  of  crusaders  appeared  on  the  oppo- 
site bank  of  the  Garonne,  and,  probably  to  their  own  surprise, 
were  allowed  to  cross  the  river  and  enter  Muret.  Early  in 
the  morning,  after  they  had  arrived  within  the  walls,  which 
had  been  terribly  shattered  by  the  siege,  a  general  assault 
took  place  ;  but  the  troops  of  De  Montfort  having  only  come 
from  a  place  called  Hauterive,  at  the  distance  of  two  leagues 
from  Muret,  were  not  nearly  so  much  fatigued  as  the  King 
of  Aragon  and  his  allies  imagined.     The  walls  were  defended 


214  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

with  valor  and  skill ;  and,  after  a  furious  combat  of  several 
hours,  the  Aragonese  forces  returned  to  their  tents,  threw  off 
their  armor,  and  sought  refreshment  and  repose. 

The  moment  was  too  favorable  to  be  neglected  by  De  Mont- 
fort,  although  the  crusaders  must  by  this  time  have  been 
weary  with  their  march  and  the  defense  of  the  place.  Com- 
manding all  the  foot  soldiers  to  remain  in  the  town,  he  mar- 
shaled his  cavalry  in  three  bodies,  and  suddenly  issued  forth  to 
attack  the  camp  of  the  King  of  Aragon,  which  lay  at  a  very 
short  distance  from  the  walls.  He  found  almost  every  one 
unarmed  and  unprepared  for  defense,  and  breaking  into  the 
camp  at  three  several  points,  the  crusaders  carried  death  and 
confusion  wherever  they  came.  At  the  first  cries  of  "  Mont- 
fort  I  Montfort  I"  the  king,  with  the  three  counts,  seized  their 
arms  and  rushed  to  the  various  points  where  the  fray  was  go- 
ing on,  in  the  hope  of  beating  back  the  enemy.  All,  however, 
was  confusion,  terror,  and  disarray  in  the  camp.  No  one  at- 
tended to  the  calls  of  their  leaders.  No  one  obeyed  the  orders 
they  received.  Multitudes  were  flying  on  every  side.  The 
Bword  of  the  crusaders  raged  in  the  rear.  The  panic  was 
general  throughout  the  camp  ;  and  so  mad  and  blind  was  the 
impression  of  terror,  that  an  immense  number  plunged  into 
the  Garonne  and  were  drowned.  The  King  of  Aragon  him- 
self, disdaining  to  fly,  fell  early  in  the  day,  shouting  his  bat- 
tle-cry to  the  last ;  and  the  handful  of  gallant  men,  who  aided 
their  lord  in  his  attempts  to  raUy  the  host,  died  around  him. 
The  rumor  of  the  king's  death,  and  the  scene  of  unutterable 
confusion  which  appeared  on  every  side,  showed  the  three 
counts  that  there  was  no  chance  of  recovering  the  day ;  and, 
after  having  fought  gallantly  for  some  time,  they  turned  their 
horses  and  escaped  to  Toulouse.* 

^  This  account  of  the  battle  of  JVL^-et  is  principally  taken  from  the 
statements  of  the  anonymous  histonJttfof  the  wars,  with  a  few  facts 
added  from  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cerna^,  and  from  the  letter  of  the  prelates 
who  were  present  in  the  crusading  array.  The  anonymous  histoiian 
difl'urs  much  from  Vaulx  Cernay.  The  latter,  in  order  to  add  to  the 
glory  of  his  hero,  takes  no  notice  of  the  surprise  of  the  camp,  but  rep- 
resents the  whole  Aragonese  and  Toulousian  army  as  drawn  up  in  bat- 
tle array  to  oppose  the  small  force  of  De  Montfort ;  but  the  facts  which 
he  suffers  to  appear,  and  those  apparent  in  the  letter  of  the  prelates,  dis- 
play the  causes  uf  tlio  Aragonese  defeat,  and  show  tlie  truth  of  tiie 
anonymous  writer's  statements  and  the  inaccuracy  of  Vaulx  Cernay. 
The  prelates  state  that  the  King  of  Aragon  sat  down  under  the  walls  of 
Muret  three  days  after  the  nativity  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  that  is  to  say, 
on  the  11th  of  September.  Intelligence  was  immediately  sent  to  Do 
Montl'ort,  who  reached  Saverdun  on  the  11th,  where  he  remained  the 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  215 

In  the  mcau  time,  the  foot  soldiers  of  De  Montfort  had 
issued  forth  from  the  walls  of  Muret,  and  employed  themselves 
diligently  in  putting  to  death  the  wounded,  and  stripping  thoi 
dead  and  dying,  so  that  the  leader  of  the  crusade,  who  did  not 
venture  to  pursue  the  enemy  far,  found  the  body  of  the  King 
of  Aragon  naked  on  the  ground  when  he  returned.  Nothing 
remained  but  to  slaughter  a  multitude  of  Toulousians  who  re- 
mained in  the  tents,  and  this  was  done  without  much  diffi- 
culty or  resistance.  Twenty  thousand  men  are  said  to  have 
fallen  on  the  part  of  the  Albigenses ;  only  one  knight  and  a 
few  common  soldiers  on  the  part  of  the  crusaders.  The  rela- 
tive forces  of  the  two  armies  are  represented  as  eight  hundred 
cavalry  and  a  small  body  of  foot  under  the  command  of  De 
Mpntibrt,  and  a  hundred  thousand  men  imder  the  King  of 
Aragon  and  the  three  counts. 

It  is  probable  that  the  disparity  is  greatly  exaggerated  ;  but, 
nevertheless,  the  battle  of  Muret  was  a  glorious  victory  for 
De  Montfort,  and  a  most  disastrous  defeat  for  the  Count  of 
Toulouse  and  his  allies. 

uight.  Some  negotiations  ensued  between  the  Kin^  of  Aragon  and  the 
legate,  who  sought  to  drive  him  from  before  the  walls  of  Muret  by  the 
thunders  of  the  Church.  These  proving  ineffectual,  De  Montfort 
marched  on,  Vaulx  Ceniay  admits,  unopposed  to  Muret.  He  takes  little 
notice,  however,  of  the  subsequent  assault  upon  the  town  by  the  allied 
troops,  but  next  represents  De  Montfort  issuing  forth  pompously  against 
the  whole  host  of  the  enemy  drawn  out  in  battle  array.  He,  neverthe- 
less, shows  that  an  immense  number  of  Toulousians  remained  in  the 
camp,  even  after  their  companions  had  been  defeated  and  the  crusaders 
had  passed  forward  in  pursuit.  He  adds,  indeed,  that  they  were  pre- 
pared for  battle ;  but  he  admits  that  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse,  even,  was 
struck  with  compassion  at  their  miserable  situation,  and  sent  a  monk  to 
them  to  offer  them  life,  if  they  would  be  converted  and  submit.  This 
ofler  would  hardly  have  been  addressed  to  ''  an  infinite  number"  armed 
and  prepared  for  battle.  The  same  story  is  told  by  the  prelates  in  their 
letter,  from  which  it  is  probable  that  Vaulx  Cernay  copied  his  whole 
account;  and  it  appears  clearly  that,  attacked  in  their  tents,  a  very 
large  portion  of  the  allied  army  did  not  even  know  of  the  defeat  and 
slaughter  of  their  companions  till  just  before  De  Montfort  and  his  vic- 
torious troops  were  returning  to  put  them  also  to  the  sword. 


21«  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    ALBIGENSES. 

Consternation  and  doubt  spread  through  the  whole  coun- 
try after  the  battle  of  Muret,  and  many  of  the  garrisons  in 
fortresses  belonging  to  the  Count  of  Toulouse  abandoned  their 
charge  and  fled  to  the  capital.  The  count  himself,  and  his 
friends  of  Foix  and  Comminges,  seem  to  have  been  completely 
overwhelmed  with  the  disaster  which  had  befallen  them,  and 
to  anticipate  nothing  less  than  the  loss  of  all  their  territories. 
The  events  which  followed,  however,  are  exceedingly  dark  and 
obscure,  and  the  most  contradictory  statements  are  found  in 
the  authors  best  acquainted  with  the  facts.  Even  among  per- 
sons strongly  attached  to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  party 
spirit  ran  so  high,  that  no  perversion  of  facts  was  deemed  un- 
justifiable to  blacken  the  character  of  an  enemy  or  justify  the 
conduct  of  a  friend.  Our  surest  guide,  perhaps,  is  the  anony- 
mous historian,  already  so  often  mentioned ;  but  his  dates  are, 
unfortunately,  so  confused  that  we  can  not  follow  him  as  to  the 
order  of  events,  although  he  is  by  far  the  most  impartial  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  historians. 

From  all  accounts,  it  would  appear  that  De  Montfort  did 
not  improve  the  great  advantage  he  had  gained  as  much  as 
might  have  been  expected.  Negotiations  were  commenced  for 
the  surrender  of  Toulouse  itself,  in  which  a  considerable  time 
was  spent  without  producing  any  result,  the  legates  making 
excessive  demands,  and  the  magistrates  of  Toulouse  amusing 
them  with  offers  which,  probably,  they  had  no  expectation 
should  be  accepted. 

In  the  mean  time,  De  Montfort  made  some  efforts  on  the 
side  of  the  county  of  Foix,  with  no  great  result ;  and  he  was 
soon  called  into  the  Narbonnois,  by  strong  signs  of  disaffection 
which  appeared  among  the  people  of  that  country.  It  is  very 
clear  that,  at  this  period,  ambition  had  completely  taken  pos- 
session of  that  great  but  cruel  man,  and  that  it  was  now  his 
design  to  conquer,  by  the  arms  of  the  crusaders,  the  whole  ter- 
ritory lying  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees  from  sea  to  sea,  to  ob- 
tain the  investiture  thereof  from  the  pope,  and  to  hold  it  to 
himself  and  his  heirs,  probably,  as  a  vassal  of  the  King  of 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  217 

France.  Many  difficulties,  indeed,  lay  in  his  way,  of  which 
the  most  important  were,  the  hatred  of  the  people  of  the  coun- 
tr}%  excited  to  the  highest  pitch  of  indignation  by  the  barbar- 
ous acts  he  had  committed  ;  the  jealousy  of  the  King  of 
France,  who  was  little  inclined  to  render  any  of  his  vassals  so 
powerful  as  De  Montfort  would  have  become  could  he  have 
carried  his  schemes  into  effect;  and  the  hesitation  of  the  pope, 
who,  besieged  by  the  representations  of  both  parties  in  Langue- 
doc,  knew  not  which  to  believe,  alternately  looking  upon  De 
Montfort  as  a  cruel  persecutor  of  innocent  men,  and,  as  a  sol- 
dier of  the  Church,  laboring  for  the  suppression  of  heresy. 

To  conciUate  the  King  of  France,  De  Montfort  immediate- 
ly sent  messengers  to  the  son  of  that  monarch,  who,  as  I  have 
said,  had  previously  taken  the  cross  against  the  Albigenses, 
beseeching  him  to  join  him  with  all  speed,  and  to  take  pos- 
session of  Toulouse.  His  agents  at  the  court  of  Rome  ap- 
plied themselves  with  the  utmost  diligence  to  calumniate  the 
Counts  of  Toulouse,  Foix,  and  Comminges  ;  and,  in  the  mean 
time,  he  exerted  himself  with  indefatigable  activity  to  subdue 
all  opposition  from  the  mouths  of  the  Rhone  to  the  Atlantic. 

In  noiie  of  his  efforts,  however,  was  he  very  successful. 
Philip  Augustus  evidently  looked  upon  him  with  great  suspi- 
cion ;  and  the  pope,  in  order  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  va- 
rious statements  made  to  him,  commissioned  Peter  of  Bene- 
ventum,  one  of  the  cardinals,  to  examine  into  the  state  of  Lan- 
guedoc  on  the  spot,  with  power  to  receive  all  excommunicated 
persons  back  into  the  bosom  of  the  Church.  In  Provence 
and  the  Narbonnois,  De  Montfort  made  very  little  progress ; 
Narbonne  shut  its  gates  against  him ;  Montpellier  followed 
its  example ;  and  no  further  success  attended  his  arms  till 
after  the  beginning  of  the  year  1214.  Not  only  had  the 
greater  part  of  the  crusaders  who  had  joined  him  left  his  anny 
before  the  beginning  of  October,  but  events  were  taking  place 
ill  France  and  elsewhere  which  threatened,  for  a  time,  to 
put  a  stop  altogether  to  the  influx  of  pilgrim  marauders  into 
Languedoc. 

The  miserable  condition  of  the  Christians  of  the  Holy  Land, 
and  the  daily  progress  of  the  infidel,  could  no  longer  pass  un- 
noticed by  the  head  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church.  It  was 
felt  to  be,  in  some  degree,  a  scandal  that  the  arms  of  Euro- 
pean knights,  nobles,  and  princes  should  be  employed  against 
men,  all  of  whom  called  themselves  Christians,  and  many  of" 
whom  were  sincere  Roman  Catholics,  plundering,  destroying, 
and  slaughtering  wherever  they  came,  while  the  Christian 

K 


218  DARK   SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

population  of  Syria,  daily  mown  down  by  the  sword  of  the 
Saracen,  was  crying  to  Europe  for  help.  Bishops,  monks,  and 
preachers  were  directed  to  employ  all  their  eflbrts  to  rouse  the 
people  of  France  and  Germany  to  a  new  expedition  to  the 
Holy  Land ;  and  the  attention  of  all  men  was  for  a  time 
turned  from  Languedoc  to  the  shores  of  Palestine. 

Late  in  1213,  or  early  in  1214,  the  Cardinal  of  Beneven- 
tum  commenced  his  work  in  the  Narbonnois,  by  investigating 
all  the  charges  against  the  Counts  of  Toulouse,  Foix,  and 
Comminges.  It  would  seem  he,  in  the  first  place,  conferred 
secretly  with  De  Montfort,  and  received  a  strong  impression 
from  the  representations  of  that  nobleman.  Nevertheless,  the 
three  counts  did  not  fail  to  plead  their  own  cj^lise  with  him 
at  Narbonne,  and  so  far  successfully  that  he  granted  them 
absolution,  and  received  them  again  into  the  bosom  of  the 
Church,  though  not  without  exacting  a  written  promise  of 
entire  submission  to  its  decrees.* 

This  event  took  place  in  April ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  war 
did  not  cease ;  and  Robert  de  Cour9on,  the  cardinal  legate  in 
France,  having  been  persuaded  to  abandon  the  preaching  of 
the  crusade  for  the  recovery  of  the  sepulcher,  the  stream  of 
military  pilgrimage  began  once  more  to  flow  into  Languedoc. 
Robert  himself  joined  the  crusaders,  and  led  a  large  body  of 
troops  into  the  diocese  of  Rhodez. 

Nevertheless,  success  was  not  altogether  on  the  side  of  Pe 
Montfort.  Universally  hated  throughout  the  land,  no  sooner 
were  the  troops  of  the  crusade  withdrawn,  than  the  people  of 
the  country  rose  against  them,  expelled  the  garrisons  they  had 
left  in  the  cities,  and  put  many  of  them  to  death.  Moissac 
revolted,  and  called  in  the  forces  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse. 
A  great  number  of  other  places  followed  this  example,  and  it 
required  vast  efforts  on  the  part  of  De  Montfort  to  recover 
them.  The  same  bloody  scenes  were  re-enacted  during  this 
year  which  had  previously  disgraced  the  crusade.  Maurillac, 
Mont-pezat,  Marmande,  Casseneuil,  Dome,  Castelnau,  and 
Bainac  were  taken  ;  and,  wherever  resistance  was  offered,  the 
prisoners  were  put  to  the  sword  or  burned  in  the  presence  of 
the  legates.  Seven  of  the  teachers  of  the  Vaudois,  found  in 
Maurillac,  were  burned  by  the  crusaders  ''with  great  joy,'* 

•  Tctcr  of  VauU  Cernay,  with  his  usual  ba«o  insincerity,  ouly  men- 
tions the  reconciliations  of  the  Counts  of  Foix  and  Commiuges,  taking 
no  notice  whatever  of  the  absolution  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  though 
he  must  have  known  Uio  fact  perfectly  well.  The  counfs  written  act 
of  sabmiMbu  to  the  Rooaish  Cfbarcb  is  still  extant. 


THE  ALBIGENSES.  219 

by  the  express  orders  of  the  Cardinal  Robert  de  Cour9on,  glo- 
rying in  their  faith,  and  refusing  to  make  any  submission  to 
the  Romish  Church.  Many  other  places  fell  before  the  arms 
of  the  crusaders,  and  the  power  of  De  Montfort  was  com- 
pletely re-established,  when  an  event  occurred  which  stirred 
up  in  the  host  of  the  crusade  many  of  those  evil"  passions  which 
had  more  than  once  before  broken  out,  and  nearly  frustrated 
the  designs  of  the  leaders. 

In  the  beginning  of  1215,  Philip  Augustus  judged  it  expe- 
dient to  send  his  son,  Prince  Louis,  into  Languedoc,  probably 
with  a  view  of  giving  a  check  to  the  ambitious  designs  of  De 
Montfort,  rather  than  to  aid  in  oppressing  the  people  of  the 
land.  He  took  care,  also,  that  his  son  should  be  accompanied 
by  a  force  so  imposing  as  to  enable  him  to  dictate  to  all  the 
contending  parties  in  the  south  of  France  ;  and  it  is  evident, 
that  not  only  De  Montfort,  but  the  Cardinal  of  Beneventum, 
the  Archbishop  of  Narbonne,  formerly  Abbot  of  Citeaux,  and 
many  other  prelates  and  barons,  regarded  the  approach  of 
Prince  Louis  with  jealousy  and  dread.  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cer- 
nay  allows  us  to  see  the  workings  of  all  the  evil  passions 
which  at  this  time  animated  the  leaders  of  the  crusade.  De 
Montfort  and  his  partisans  hated  Peter  of  Beneventum  for 
giving  absolution  to  those  whom  the  writer  calls  '*  enemies  of 
Christianity  and  the  count."  Peter  of  Beneventum  feared 
the  approach  of  Louis,  lest,  coming  as  son  of  the  King  of 
France,  he  should  snatch  from  the  Church  the  towns  and  ter- 
ritories which  had  been  yielded  to  it  by  the  Counts  of  Tou- 
louse, Foix,  and  Comminges.  The  Archbishop  of  Narbonne 
had  enraged  De  Montfort,  and  also  Peter  of  Beneventum,  by 
usurping  the  lordship  of  the  city  of  Narbonne  and  the  duchy 
of  the  Narbonnois  ;  and  he  also  regarded  the  coming  of  Louis 
with  fear,  lest  a  stronger  hand  should  strip  him  of  that  which 
he  had  unjustly  obtained.  All  parties,  also,  regarded  Philip 
Augustus  with  anger  and  suspicion,  because  he  had  given  no 
aid  to  the  crusaders,  and  had  looked  with  displeasure  on  the 
slaughter  and  persecution  of  his  subjects. 

In  fact,  the  wild  beasts  now  began  to  quarrel  for  the  car- 


Their  apprehensions,  however,  were  needless.  Louis  was 
a  very  meek  and  humble  servant  of  the  Church.  He  arrived 
at  Lyons  on  Easter  day,  and  then  marched  down  the  Rhone, 
with  slow  and  solemn  progress,  meeting  and  reassuring  the 
different  leaders  of  the  crusade.  Passing  by  Vienne  and  Va- 
lence, the  French  prince  reached  the  town  of  St.  Giles,  where 


220  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

he  was  met  by  nuncios  of  the  pope  bearing  letters,  by  which 
the  holy  father,  without  arrogating  to  himself  the  power  of 
disposing  absolutely  of  the  territories  conquered  by  the  cru- 
saders or  yielded  to  his  legates,  conferred  the  guardianship  of 
the  whole  upon  De  Montfort.  To  this  arrangement  Louis 
made  no  opposition,  but,  acting  entirely  under  the  instigations 
of  the  Cardinal  of  Beneventum,  announced  that  he  should 
command  the  walls  of  Narbonne  and  Toulouse  to  be  thrown 
down.  He  positively  ordered  the  crusaders,  however,  to  re- 
frain from  all  acts  of  violence  toward  the  inhabitants  of  those 
cities,  and  left  the  destruction  of  the  fortifications  to  the  citi- 
zens themselves.  He  then  marched  on  to  Toulouse,  remain- 
ed for  a  short  time  in  the  place,  and,  having  seen  the  whole 
countr}'  quietly  submit  to  De  Montfort,  returned  to  Paris  with- 
out having  had  to  unsheath  his  sword. 

While  these  transactions  were  taking  place  in  France,  In- 
nocent had  summoned  a  general  council  to  meet  at  Rome  in 
the  month  of  November  ;  but  before  I  proceed  to  notice  the 
deliberations  of  that  assembly,  I  must  mention-one  of  the  most 
tragic  events  of  the  whole  war,  which  occurred  in  the  course 
of  the  preceding  year. 

The  conduct  of  Baldwin,  the  brother  of  the  Count  of  Tou- 
louse, has  been  already  noticed.  We  have  become  acquainted 
with  his  posthumous  and  apparently  somewhat  doubtful  birth, 
his  betrayal  of  Raymond's  confidence,  and  his  treasonable  al- 
liance with  the  inveterate  enemies  of  his  feudal  lord.  Since  he 
abandoned  the  party  of  the  count,  he  had  shown  himself  one 
of  the  most  active  and  malignant  of  his  persecutors  ;  and,  by 
every  law,  his  life  was  forfeit  to  his  brother.  A  multitude  of 
noblemen,  who  had  quitted  the  party  of  De  Montfort,  had 
been  put  to  death  without  mercy  as  soon  as  taken  by  him ; 
and  no  difference  existed  between  their  case  and  that  of  Bald- 
win, except  inasmuch  as  Raymond  was  his  brother  as  well 
as  his  prince ;  and  doubtless  he  showed  the  desperate  valor 
which  he  so  frequently  displayed  after  his  treason,  from  a  con- 
viction that  no  mercy  would  be  shown  him  should  he  be  caj)- 
tured. 

It  would  appear  that  he  had  acquired  several  strong  places, 
besides  Bruniquel,  out  of  his  brother's  confiscated  property ; 
and  there  is  every  reason  to  beUeve  that  Raymond  avoided, 
as  far  as  possible,  making  war  upon  his  treacherous  brother. 
Among  the  castles  which  Baldwin  possessed  was  one  in  the 
diocese  of  Cahors,  named  Olme,  in  which  he  held  a  garrison, 
devoted,  as  he  imagined,  to  his  interests.     Examples  of  trea- 


THEALBIGENSE8.  ftftl 

son,  however,  are  subject  to  be  imitated  by  the  servants  of  a 
traitor ;  and  one  night,  while  Baldwin  was  reposing  quietly 
at  Olme,  the  knights,  who  were  in  the  castle,  called  in  the 
garrison  of  Mont  Leonard,  a  neighboring  town  belonging  to 
the  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  gave  up  their  commander  to  the 
Toulousian  soldiers.  Several  persons  were  killed  in  the  cas- 
tle during  the  affray  ;  but  Baldwin  was  found  asleep,  and 
dragged  away  captive  to  Mont  Auban.  He  was  there  kept 
till  the  Count  of  Toulouse  arrived,  together  with  the  Count 
of  Foix,  the  latter  nobleman's  son,  and  an  Aragonese  knight, 
named  Bernard  of  Porlello.  Raymond,  it  would  appear,  was 
inclined  to  spare  his  brother,  notwithstanding  all  his  crimes  ; 
but  the  others  unanimously  demanded  his  death,  probably  in 
retaliation  for  the  execution  of  a  number  of  their  own  friends, 
under  similar  circumstances,  by  De  Montfort.  Raymond  at 
length  consented ;  and  the  unhappy  man,  the  brother  of  a 
great  prince,  and  cousin  of  the  King  of  France,  was  hanged 
upon  a  tree  outside  the  gates  of  Mont  Auban,  like  a  common 
felon.* 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ALBIGENSES. 

In  the  month  of  November,  1115,  was  held  a  great  coun- 
cil of  the  Lateran,  at  which,  we  are  assured,  more  than  twelve 
hundred  bishops  and  abbots  were  present,  besides  other  per- 
sons. At  this  assembly  appeared  the  Counts  of  Foix,  Com- 
minges,  and  Toulouse  on  the  one  part,  and  Guy,  the  brother 
of  Simon  de  Montibrt,  on  the  other.  The  state  of  Languedoc, 
and  the  heresy  of  the  Albigenses,  formed  the  principal  topic 
of  discussion ;  and  the  council  was  very  much  divided  as  to 
the  course  which  ought  to  be  pursued.  We  have  a  minute 
and  apparently  accurate  report  of  the  arguments  used  on  both 
sides  ;  and  a  brief  summary  of  these  will  show  the  views  and 
feelings,  or  rather  the  pretexts  and  assertions  of  both  parties. 

*  Puy  Laurens,  who  gives  a  short  account  of  this  event,  does  not 
blame  the  Count  of  Toulouse  so  much  for  putting  his  brother  to  death 
as  for  the  ignominy  of  the  punishment  which  he  inflicted.  Peter  of 
Vaulx  Ceraay,  of  course,  embellishes  the  narrative  with  many  details 
of  his  own  invention.  ,^. 


222  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

The  Count  of  Toulouse  and  his  allies  laid  a  formal  com- 
plaint before  the  pope  and  his  council  against  Simon  de  Mont- 
fort  and  the  legates.  They  charged  the  crusaders  with  hav- 
ing wronged  them  in  all  ways,  and  with  pursuing  the  war, 
pillaging  their  country,  killing  their  people,  and  seizing  upon 
their  territories,  notwithstanding  their  reconciliation  with  the 
Church,  their  obedience  to  her  commands,  and  the  express  or- 
ders of  the  pope  himself  They  represented,  as  well  they 
might,  that  the  conduct  of  their  enemies  was  that  of  devils 
rather  than  men,  and  that  the  Church  could  not  countenance 
or  tolerate  it  without  scandal  and  disgrace.  Several  cardi- 
nals, bishops,  and  abbots  supported  strongly,  either  from  their 
own  personal  knowledge  or  from  information  they  had  re- 
ceived, the  statement  of  the  three  counts ;  and  the  pope  is 
represented  as  having  expressed  much  indignation  at  the  con- 
duct of  De  Montfort  and  the  legates. 

The  Bishop  of  Toulouse,  however,  rose  in  defense  of  De 
Montfort,  and  bitterly  attacked  the  Count  of  Foix.  He  de- 
clared that  his  territories  were  swarming  with  heretics,  who 
had  taken  and  burned  the  Castle  of  Monsegur,  with  all  its  in- 
habitants ;  that  the  sister  of  the  count  had  put  her  husband 
to  death,  to  favor  the  cause  of  the  Albigenses,  and  had  great- 
ly encouraged  their  heresy  in  her  town  of  Pamiers.  He  ac- 
cused the  Count  of  Foix  and  the  Count  of  Toulouse  of  hav- 
ing slaughtered  the  crusaders  who  went  to  succour  De  Mont- 
fort and  the  legate  at  tha  siege  of  Lavaur,  and  of  having  slain 
six  thousand  of  them  at  Montjoyre. 

The  Count  of  Foix  boldly  and  justly  replied,  that  he  had 
nothing  on  earth  to  do  with  the  Castle  of  Monsegur,  or  with 
its  destruction.  He  showed  that  the  town  had  never  been  in 
his  possession,  being  the  property  of  his  sister  ;  and  he  con- 
tended that  he  ought  not  to  be  blamed  for  her  faults. 

The  Bishop  of  Toulouse  had  thought  fit  to  call  the  crusad- 
ers, killed  at  Montjoyre  and  elsewhere,  the  people  and  serv- 
ants of  the  pope ;  and  to  this  part  of  the  accusation  Foix 
boldly  replied, 

"As  to  what  the  bishop  says,  that  I  and  my  lord,  the 
Count  Raymond,  have  slaughtered  and  killed  your  people  and 
servants,  it  is  not  true  that  we  have  slain  any  of  the  servants 
of  the  Holy  Church,  nor  have  committed  any  outrage  ujwu 
them  ;  for  those  who  were  killed  at  Montjoyre  were  no  serv- 
ants of  the  Church,  but  a  mob  of  ribalds  and  thieves,  who 
pillaged  and  robbed  the  poor  people,  which  will  be  found  the 
truth.     Thus,  in  that  which  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse  tells  you, 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  223 

he  greatly  deceives  and  cheats  you  ;  for,  under  the  shadow  of 
good  faith  and  friendship,  he  does  nothing  but  betray  by  feign- 
ed and  cunning  words.  His  acts  and  deeds  are  rather  the  acts 
of  the  devil  than  any  thing  else,  as  you  will  find  to  be  true  ; 
for,  by  his  instigation  and  malice,  he  caused  the  town  of  Tou- 
louse to  be  pillaged  and  depopulated  ;  and  he  put  to  a  cruel 
death  more  than  ten  thousand  persons  ;  for  he  and  the  Count 
de  Montfort  are,  in  these  things,  one." 

After  the  Count  of  Foix  had  thus  replied  to  the  Bishop  of 
Toulouse,  several  other  lords  of  Languedoc  made  formal  com- 
plaint against  that  prelate  and  the  Count  de  Montfort,  laying 
to  their  charge  the  death  of  the  Viscount  de  Beziers,  and  all 
the  ills  which-  had  befallen  the  country,  and  showing  clearly 
that  the  ravages  of  the  crusaders  and  the  massacre  of  the 
people  of  Languedoc  had  been  committed  without  discrimina- 
tion, or  any  sense  of  equity  and  justice  ;  the  good  and  the  bad 
being  equally  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  true  children  of  the 
Church  confounded  with  those  who  had  been  condemned  as 
heretics. 

Innocent,  we  are  assured,  was  much  moved  by  the  repre- 
sentations made  to  him  ;  but  the  first  open  proceedings  of  the 
council  were  succeeded  by  all  the  underhanded  practices  and 
dirty  intrigues  which  have  so  frequently  disgraced  the  court 
of  Rome.  The  party  of  De  Montfort  used  every  private 
means  to  induce  the  sovereign  pontiff  to  declare  the  three 
counts  finally  deprived  of  their  territories ;  and,  finding  him 
firm  in  refusing,  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse  and  a  number  of  other 
French  prelates  proceeded  to  the  most  daring  and  refractory 
menaces,  declaring  that,  whatever  might  be  the  decision  of 
the  council,  they  would  still  aid  their  champion  to  retain  pos- 
session of  the  lands  he  had  acquired. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Archbishop  of  Narbonne  now  show- 
ed himself  openly  hostile  to  De  Montfort,  with  whom  he  had 
so  long  marched  to  battle  ;  and  he  publicly  declared  that  the 
Bishop  of  Toulouse  himself  was  the  author  of  all  the  evil  that 
had  been  done,  for  he  had  always  given  to  himself  and  the 
other  legates  the  most  damnable  advice.  He  justified  the 
coaduct  of  Raymond  of  Toulouse  and  the  others  in  resisting 
De  Montfort  with  arms,  and  pointed  out  the  constant  submis- 
sion of  the  three  counts  to  the  will  of  the  pope,  whenever  it 
was  distinctly  expressed,  as* a  proof  of  their  innocence.  He 
was  strongly  supported  by  several  other  prelates,  one  of  whom, 
addressing  the  Bishop  of  Toulouse  in  person,  accused  him  of 
bringing  disgrace  upon  the  Church,  of  deceiving  the  pope,  and 


2:24  DARK    SCEiNES    OF    HISTORY. 

of  lighting  a  fire  in  the  Toulousain  "v^hich  could  never  be  ex- 
tinguished. 

Theodise,  however,  a  man  much  trusted  by  Innocent,  took 
the  opposite  side,  aiid  the  pope  and  the  council  remained  ap- 
parently undecided.  They  left  the  lands  of  Toulouse  and 
Narbonne,  indeed,  in  the  hands  of  De  Montfort ;  but  the  pope 
invested  the  son  of  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  who  had  accompa- 
nied his  father  to  Rome,  with  the  whole  county  of  the  Ve- 
naisin,  and  the  lands  and  territories  formerly  held  by  Ray- 
mond in  Provence.  We  are  assured  that  the  pontiff  added  a 
hint,  of  no  shght  significance,  that  if  the  young  man  could  re- 
conquer all  his  father's  territories  the  holy  see  would  be  well 
satisfied.* 

Here  might  terminate  the  history  of  the  crusade  against  the 
Albigenses  ;  for  the  war  now  deviated  into  a  mere  ambitious 
struggle,  on  the  part  of  De  Montfort  and  his  supporters,  to 
wrest  from  the  son  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse  the  territories 
which  the  pope  had  left  him,  and  to  retain  possession  of  that 
vast  tract  of  country  which  Simon  had  so  unjustly  acquired, 
and  in  which  he  was  universally  abhorred.  It  may  be  as 
well,  however,  to  trace  the  career  of  the  principal  personages 
to  its  conclusion. 

De  Montfort,  a.8  soon  as  he  heard  the  decision  of  the  coun- 
cil of  the  Latran,  hastened  to  the  court  of  France  to  seek  as- 
sistance, and  probably  to  do  homage  to  Philip  Augustus  for 
the  territories  he  had  acquired.  Whether  he  was  permitted 
to  perform  this  act  may  be  doubted.  Some  authors  assert 
positively  that  such  was  the  case  ;  but  others,  most  favorable 
to  his  cause,  who  were  present  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  his  ar- 
rival, and  who  watched  eagerly  all  the  passing  events,  make 
no  mention  of  the  fact.  It  is  certain  that  he  received  no  di- 
rect assigtance  from  the  king,  and  that  he  returned  to  Lan- 

*  Peter  of  Vanlx  Cemay  conceals  all  the  principal  facts  regarding  tbo 
council  of  the  Latran,  passing  lightly  over  all  the  angry  discussions 
which  took  place,  and  merely  saying,  "  It  is  true  there  were  some  peo- 
ple there,  and,  what  is  more,  some  among  the  prelates,  who  opposed 
themselves  to  the  interests  of  the  faith,  and  labored  for  the  restoration 
of  the  said  counts."  He  also  asserts,  iu  order  to  excuse  the  after-con- 
duct of  Do  Montfort,  that  the  county  of  the  Vcnaisin  and  other  territo- 
ries in  Provence  were  only  granted  to  the  son  of  Raymond  of  Toulouse 
under  the  guardiimsliin  of  Do  Montfort  himself,  and  were  not  to  be  de- 
livered up  to  him  till  he  had  proved  the  sincerity  of  his  faith  and  obe- 
dience to  the  Church.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  the  citizens  of  Avignon 
and  other  plncee  opened  their  gates  to  the  young  count  at  the  express 
commands  of  the  pcjpe. 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  «25 

guedoc  accompanied  only  by  a  small  body  of  knights  and  vol- 
unteers. 

During  the  absence  of  De  Montfort,  the  Count  of  Toulouse 
and  his  son  arrived  at  Marseilles  from  Rome,  and  were  re- 
ceived with  joy  by  the  people  of  that  city.  Avignon  sent  im- 
mediately to  offer  the  keys  of  the  town  to  the  young  lord,  and 
the  county  of  Venaisin  welcomed  him  gladly,  the  towns  open- 
ing their  gates,  and  the  nobles  flocking  to  do  homage.  An 
immense  number  of  barons,  each  accompanied  by  a  mihtary 
retinue,  followed  the  young  prince  to  Avignon,  where  he  re- 
joined his  father,  who  had  preceded  him  ;  and  the  force  col- 
lected excited  in  all  breasts  the  hope  of  being  able  to  expel  De 
Montfort  from  Languedoc.  Beaucaire  and  Tarascon  remain- 
ed to  be  acquired  ;  but  the  latter  place  promptly  sent  to  offer 
not  only  submission,  but  armed  assistance ;  and  the  citizens 
of  Beaucaire  besought  Raymond  the  younger  to  hasten  to 
take  possession  of  the  town  and  reduce  the  citadel,  in  which 
De  Montfort  had  placed  a  garrison. 

Ever  since  the  fatal  battle  of  Muret,  bands  of  Aragonese 
troops,  eager  to  avenge  the  death  of  their  king  and  wipe  out 
the  disgrace  of  their  arms,  had,  from  time  to  time,  crossed  the 
mountains,  and  ravaged  the  territories  held  by  De  Montfort. 
It  was  now  determined  in  the  council  at  Avignon  that  the 
Count  of  Toulouse  himself  should  proceed  to  Spain  to  give 
consistence  and  direction  to  the  efforts  of  the  Al'agonese,  and 
to  raise  an  army  for  the  recovery  of  the  county  of  Toulouse  ; 
while  his  son,  with  the  advice  and  assistance  of  the  lords  of 
Provence  and  other  friends,  should  march  to  Beaucaire,  and 
endeavor  to  reduce  the  citadel.*  This  plan  was  acted  upon  ; 
and  while  the  old  count  hastened  into  Aragon,  his  son  march- 
ed out  of  Avignon,  at  the  head  of  a  gallant  army,  taking  his 
way  toward  Beaucaire.  The  inhabitants  of  that  city  met 
him,  in  procession,  at  some  distance,  bearing  the  keys  of  the 
town  ;  and  he  was  hardly  within  the  w^ils  when  a  flotilla 
from  Tarascon  arrived,  bringing  a  large  ^-enforcement  to  his 
array.  De  Montfort's  garrison  in  the  '  ladel,  though  the  re- 
ception of  the  young  comit  took  them  '  ,  surprise,  prepared  for 
determined  resistance,  and  even  issuod  forth  to  attack  the 
Provenceaux  in  the  streets,  but  were  soon  driven  back  into  the 
fortress  with  considerable  loss. 

*  Some  say  that  the  application  of  the  citizens  of  Beaucaire  was  not 
made  till  after  the  departure  of  Raymond  the  elder.  Others  say  that 
the  count  himself  was  present  when  his  son  entered  that  city ;  but  both 
these  statements  seem  to  be  erroneous. 

K2 


22fl  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

The  citadel  of  Beaucaire  was  at  that  time  so  strongly  for- 
tified that  it  seemed  little  probable  the  place  could  be  reduced 
by  any  other  means  than  famine.  A  strict  blockade  was 
therefore  established,  and  barricades  erected  on  ©very  approach 
to  the  castle,  so  as  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the  garrison  and 
the  introduction  of  provisions.  Measures  were  also  taken  to 
deprive  the  troops  within  of  water,  and  militar}'^  engines  were 
prepared  for  battering  the  walls.  The  whole  country  round 
was  zealous  and  eager  in  the  cause  of  the  young  count ;  pro- 
visions arrived  abundantly  in  the  town,  and  his  army  was 
swelled  by  daily  re-enforcements. 

In  the  mean  time,  intelligence  of  the  attack  upon  the  Cas- 
tle of  Beaucaire  had  reached  Guy,  the  brother,  and  Almeric, 
the  son  of  the  Count  de  Montfort ;  and  collecting  what  troops 
they  could  assemble  in  haste,  they  marched  to  raise  the  siege. 
Passing  through  an  adverse  country,  where  every  impediment 
was  thrown  in  their  way,  they  at  length  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  city,  and  at  the  Castle  of  Bellegarde,  in  its 
immediate  vicinity,  were  unexpectedly  joined  by  De  Montfort 
himself,  with  the  troops  he  had  raised  in  the  north  of  France. 
This  addition  to  the  forces  of  Guy  and  Almeric  raised  the 
numbers  of  the  army  sufficiently  to  justify  an  attack  upon  the 
besiegers.  On  the  tbllowing  morning  an  attempt  was,  accord- 
ingly, made  to  penetrate  into  Beaucaire  ;  but  it  was  vigorous- 
ly repelled  by  the  young  count  and  his  companions,  and  the 
siege  continued  without  interruption. 

The  garrison  con.«isted  of  chosen  men,  and  the  defense  was 
vigorous  and  resolute.  At  the  same  time,  De  Montfort  loudly 
expressed  his  determination  never  to  depart  from  beneath  the 
walls  of  Beaucaire  till  he  had  delivered  the  gallant  knights 
who  were  in  the  citadel.  Accordingly,  pitching  his  tents  upon 
the  bank  of  the  Rhone,  he  threw  up  barricades  around  his 
camp,  so  that  the  besiegers  were  in  turn  besieged.  The  en- 
gines of  the  young  count  plied  the  citadel  night  and  day  ; 
those  of  De  Montfort  battered  the  walls  of  the  town  ;  every 
resource  of  the  art  of  war,  as  known  at  that  time,  was  em- 
ployed ;  mine  and  counter  mine  were  run  under  the  walls ; 
and  we  find  that  pots  filled  with  combustible  or  explosive 
powder — though  of  what  composition  we  know  not — were 
cast  upon  the  engines  of  the  enemy  to  destroy  them.  Every 
day  skirmishes  and  single  combats  took  place  beneath  the 
walls ;  and  more  than  once  De  Montfort  was  met  in  the  open 
field  by  the  young  count  and  a  part  of  his  army,  while  the 
rest  remained  to  carry  on  the  siege  of  the  castle. 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  227 

It  is  not  denied  by  Peter  of  Vaulx  Cernay  that  the  country 
for  many  miles  around  was  inimical  to  De  Montfort ;  that  all 
supplies  of  provisions  were  denied  him,  except  by  the  towns 
of  St.  Giles  and  Nismes,  and  it  became  necessary  that  what- 
ever was  obtained  should  be  escorted  by  large  detachments, 
to  prevent  its  being  seized  by  the  country  people,  so  great  was 
the  hatred  which  his  actions  had  excited.  The  same  author 
suffers  it  to  appear  that  even  the  knights  and  soldiers  of  De 
Montfort's  camp  showed  themselves  inactive  and  weary  of  the 
war ;  and,  from  other  accounts,  we  find  that,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  some  of  the  bold  men  among  his  owa  followers 
reproached  him  with  his  injustice  and  ambition,  and  told  him 
that  he  might  grow  gray  under  the  walls  of  Beaucaire,  before 
God  would  deliver  it  into  his  hands. 

During  these  events  Raymond  the  elder  made  a  rapid 
course  through  Catalonia  and  Aragon,  and  rumors  reached 
De  Montfort  that  he  had  passed  the  mountains,  and  was  apT- 
proaching  the  town  of  Toulouse,  the  inhabitants  of  which 
were  eager  to  throw  off  the  yoke  which  had  been  imposed 
upon  them,  and  return  to  the  rule  of  their  natural  lord.  Not 
even  the  fear  of  losing-^that  city,  however,  could  induce  Do 
Montfort  to  abandon  his  operations  against  the  town  of  Beau- 
caire ;  and  Raymond  the  younger  persisted  with  equal  determ- 
ination in  pressing  the  siege  of  the  citadel.  Provisions  now 
began  to  run  short  in  the  castle,  and  even  the  courage  of  the 
stout  soldiers  within  its  walls  to  fail.  The  spirit  of  the  gar- 
rison was  still  further  depressed  when  they  beheld  a  large  re- 
enforcement  pour  into  the  town  to  the  aid  of  the  young  count, 
headed  by  Raymond  of  Mont  Auban  and  five  other  distin- 
guished knights ;  while  a  flotilla  mounted  the  Rhone,  bringing 
another  considerable  body  of  assailants,  and  supplies  of  various 
kinds,  from  the  flat  country  below.  To  show  their  distressed 
condition  to  their  lord,  they  hoisted  a  black  flag  on  the  high- 
est tower  of  the  citadel ;  and  De  Montfort  renewed  his  attack 
upon  the  walls  of  Beaucaire  with  increased  fury,  but  no  greater 
success  than  before.  The  besiegers  of  the  citadel  found  means 
to  frustrate  all  his  efforts,  and  even  to  cast  inflammable  ma- 
terials of  some  kind  both  into  his  camp  and  the  citadel,  the 
highest  part  of  which  was  set  on  fire. 

At  length,  as  a  last  resource,  it  was  determined  by  De 
Montfort  to  employ  a  stratagem,  and  to  place  a  hunded  cho- 
sen men  in  concealment,  as  near  as  possible  to  the  gates  of  the 
castle  and  the  town,  during  the  night.  It  was  further  ar- 
ranged that  the  main  army  should  attack  the  walls  of  the 


228  DARK   SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

town  at  the  break  of  day,  but,  seeming  to  be  struck  with 
panic,  should  affect  to  fly,  thus  drawing  the  forces  of  the  young 
count  forth  from  the  walls.  The  men  in  ambuscade  were  to 
watch  their  opportunity  and  fall  upon  the  rear  of  the  enemy. 

This  plan  was  put  in  execution  ;  but  it  proved  perfectly  un- 
successful. The  leaders  of  the  young  count's  army  were  upon 
their  guard  ;  and  his  forces  were  sufficiently  numerous  at  once 
to  carry  on  the  siege  and  to  defend  the  town  of  Beaucaire. 

The  soldiers  in  ambuscade  were  slain  to  a  man,  as  soon  as 
they  issued  from  their  place  of  concealment.  The  assault  was 
repelled  ;*and,  even  in  the  simulated  flight,  De  Montfort  lost 
a  great  number  of  his  best  soldiers. 

A  piece  of  advice  was  now  given  to  liim  by  his  brother 
Guy,  worthy  of  the  cause  in  which  he  had  engaged.  He 
counseled  his  brother  to  enter  into  negotiations  with  the  young 
^ount,  and  to  promise  that,  if  he  would  suffer  the  garrison  of 
the  castle  to  come  forth,  he,  De  Montfort,  would  withdraw 
his  troops  and  leave  him  in  peaceful  possession  of  Provence, 
Tarascon,  Avignon,  and  Beaucaire,  but  with  the  full  determ- 
ination, all  the  time,  of  returning  as  soon  as  he  had  gathered 
a  larger  army  together,  overrunning  the  whole  country,  and 
hanging  those  who  had  called  the  young  count  into  Beaucaire. 

De  Montfort  rejected  this  advice,  swearing  he  would  never 
leave  Beaucaire  till  it  had  surrendered  to  him ;  but,  even  while 
he  was  holding  council  in  his  camp,  one  of  the  garrison  of  the 
citadel  contrived  to  escape  and  reach  his  army.  When  brought 
into  the  presence  of  De  Montfort,  he  informed  him  that  the 
troops  of  the  castle  could  hold  out  no  longer.  For  three  days 
they  had  suffered  all  the  horrors  of  famine,  having  eaten  all 
their  horses  some  time  before.  All  his  council  now  pressed 
him  to  enter  into  negotiations  with  the  young  count ;  and  let- 
ters were  immediately  written,  offering  to  withdraw  the  troops 
flftid  leave  Raymond  the  younger  in  possession  of  all  the  places 
he  had  obtained,  if  he  would  suffer  the  garrison  of  the  citadel 
to  march  out  with  its  baggage.  The  reply  he  received  was 
that,  upon  the  conditions  contained  in  his  letter,  and  upon  his 
decamping  from  before  Beaucaire,  the  garrison  would  be  al- 
lowed to  march  out,  disarmed,  and  without  baggage.  But 
Raymond  refused  to  sufler  them  to  depart  till  De  Montfort 
and  his  army  were  actually  gone. 

The  moment  this  iutelhgence  was  received,  Simon  struck 
hid  tents  and  took  his  departure  for  Toulouse,  making  a  signal 
to  those  in  the  castle,  to  show  that  peace  was  concluded,  and 
leaving  his  brother  and  six  of  his  companions  to  receive  the 


1 


THE    ALBIGENSES.  229 

garrison  and  provide  for  their  wants.  The  young  count  ful- 
filled his  part  of  the  contract  to  the  letter ;  and  De  Montfort 
marched  on  to  Montguiscard,  where  he  remained  for  several 
days,  td  suffer  his  troops  to  repose.  He  then  recommenced 
his  advance  upon  Toulouse  in  battle  array,  as  if  about  to  at- 
tack an  enemy's  city. 

The  inhabitants,  alarmed  at  this  aspect,  sent  out  a  number 
of  the  most  considerable  men  among  them,  to  inquire  how  they 
had  offended,  and  to  make  their  peace.  An  immense  number 
of  others  followed,  at  the  persuasion  of  the  bishop ;  but  the 
deputation  received  a  stern  and  bitter  answer  from  De  Mont- 
fort, who  caused  them  to  be  seized  and  bound,  as  well  as  all 
the  citizens  whom  he  met  with  on  the  road.  In  the  mean 
time,  his  soldiers  poured  into  the  place,  and  committed  every 
sort  of  excess,  pillaging  the  houses  and  violating  the  women. 
But  the  inhabitants,  seeing  how  they  had  been  deceived  by 
the  bishop,  and  how  they  were  treated  by  De  Montfort,  rose 
in  arms,  formed  barricades,  got  possession  of  the  towers  which 
had  not  been  demoUshed,  and,  attacking  the  troops  with  the 
fury  of  despair,  drove  them  back  with  great  slaughter  into  the 
citadel,  to  which  De  Montforf  had  carried  all  the  prisoners 
he  had  made. 

More  than  once,  during  the  day,  De  Montfort  and  his  sol- 
diers sallied  forth,  attacked  the  citizens  in  the  streets,  set  fir© 
to  the  town  in  various  places,  and  committed  the  most  un- 
heard-of cruelties  upon  the  inhabitants ;  but,  after  a  day  of 
terrible  confusion,  bloodshed,  and  destruction,  the  town  re- 
mained in  the  hands  of  the  people ;  and  De  Montfort  was 
once  more  compelled  to  have  recourse  to  the  cunning  of  the 
bishop,  to  rescue  him  from  a  situation  which  had  become  per- 
ilous in  the  extreme.  That  prelate  engaged  the  Abbot  of  St. 
Sernin  to  interpose  between  the  inhabitants  and  the  count. 
It  was  proposed  then  to  the  magistrates  and  citizens  of  Tou- 
louse, to  enter  into  a  convention  with  the  Count  de  Montfort, 
by  which  the  past  should  be  all  buried  in  oblivion,  and  peace 
established  in  the  town.  The  arms  of  the  people,  and  the 
towers  which  remained  of  the  fortifications,  De  Montfort  de- 
manded should  be  given  up  to  him,  in  order  to  guard  against 
any  future  revolt.  He  agreed,  however,  on  this  condition,  to 
grant  a  general  amnesty  to  all  the  inhabitants,  to  give  pass- 
ports to  all  who,  doubting  his  word,  might  wish  to  quit  the 
city,  and  to  set  all  the  prisoners  free  whom  he  kept  in  the 
Castle  of  Narbonnois.  On  the  other  hand,  he  threatened,  if 
the  citizens  did  not  agree  to  this  proposal,  to  put  all  those 


MO  DARK  SCENES. OF  HISTORY. 

prisoners  immediately  to  death.  Among  them  were  the  most 
distinguished  persons  of  the  city ;  their  friends  and  relations 
were  numerous  and  influential ;  and  there  was  no  reason  to 
believe  that  any  feeling  of  mercy  or  justice  would  induce  the 
tyrant  to  spare  them  for  one  moment. 

The  citizens  were  persuaded  to  consent ;  De  Montfort  and 
his  knights  met  them  at  the  town  hall ;  the  convention  was 
confirmed  in  the  most  solemn  manner ;  the  arms  and  towers 
were  given  up  ;  and  only  one  man  was  found  wise  enough  to 
demand  a  safe-conduct  on  the  instant,  and  to  quit  the  city 
without  delay. 

"  Then  came  the  greatest  treason  that  was  ever  seen  I"  ex- 
claims the  historian.  No  sooner  had  De  Montfort  obtained 
complete  possession  of  the  town  than  he  seized  all  the  magis- 
trates and  principal  citizens,  sent  them  off  in  separate  parties 
to  distant  prisons,  whence  they  never  issued  forth  alive,  and 
leveled  the  walls  of  the  city  with  the  ground.  He  exacted, 
also,  an  enormous  ransom  from  the  citizens,  and  remained 
with  his  men-at-arms  in  the  place  till  it  was  paid.*  He  then 
set  off  for  the  town  of  Lourdes,  in  the  Pyrenees,  to  consum- 
mate another  act  of  iniquity,  which  had  been  long  in  prepara- 
tion, by  marrying  his  second  son  to  the  young  heiress  of  Bi- 
gorre,  who  had  been  torn  from  her  lawful  husband,  in  order  to 
bring  her  large  possessions  into  the  family  of  De  Montfort. 

This  done,  De  Montfort  turned  his  arms,  first,  against  the 
Count  of  Foix,  notwithstanding  his  absolution  and  the  resti- 
tution of  his  estates  by  the  pope,  took  one  of  his  castles  and 
ravaged  his  territory ;  and  then,  marching  on  into  Provence, 
attempted  to  recover  from  Raymond  the  younger  the  towns 
which  had  submitted  to  that  prince  during  the  preceding  year. 
But  little  success  attended  his  efforts  :  a  few  insignificant 
castles  only  fell  into  his  hands,  and  he  was  soon  recalled  into 
the  Toulousain  by  events  which  overthrew  the  whole  fabric 
of  his  greatness. 

The  Count  of  Toulouse  had  not  been  idle  while  these  move- 
ments were  taking  place.  He  had  not  been  prepared,  it  is 
true,  to  defend  his  people  from  the  oppression  of  De  Montfort, 
on  the  return  of  that  personage  from  Beaucaire  ;  but,  during 
the  winter  of  121G-17,  he  gathered  together  a  considerable 
force  of  Aragonese  and  Catalonians,  and,  accompanied  by  one 
of  the  counts  of  the  Spanish  marches,  passed  the  mountains  in 
the  month  of  August,  and  approached  the  town  of  Toulouse. 
There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  during  the  whole  of  the  spring 
*  Thirty  thousand  marks  of  silver. 


THE    ALBIGENSES,  231 

of  that  year,  communications  had  taken  place  between  him- 
self, the  citizens  of  Toulouse,  the  Counts  of  Foix  and  Com- 
minges,  and  a  number  of  other  nobles  of  the  country,  who 
clearly  saw  that  De  Montfbrt  would  leave  them  no  peace  till 
he  had  made  himself  master  of  all  their  possessions.  Every 
thing  was  prepared  for  Raymond's  reception,  and  he  proceed- 
ed at  once  to  one  of  the  castles  of  the  Count  of  Comminges, 
where  he  held  a  council  with  that  prince  and  with  depu- 
ties from  the  town  of  Toulouse.  It  was  then  determined, 
upon  the  representations  of  the  latter,  that  Raymond  should 
hurry  on  with  all  speed  to  his  capital  and  throw  himself  into 
the  place,  although  the  citadel,  called  the  Castle  of  Narbonnois, 
was  strongly  garrisoned ;  for  De  Montfort  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  that  nobleman's  men-at-arms  were  scattered  throughout 
the  town. 

The  forces  of  the  two  counts  proceeded  in  separate  parties 
on  their  way  ;  and,  while  Comminges  cleared  the  country  of 
some  of  De  Montfort' s  troops,  Raymond  advanced  with  the 
utmost  rapidity,  in  order  to  take  the  enemy  by  surprise,  swam 
the  Garonne  with  his  followers,  and  entered  Toulouse  amid 
the  acclamations  of  the  people. 

The  joy  of  the  warm-hearted  and  vehement  Toulousains 
went  beyond  all  bounds  at  the  sight  of  their  prince.  They 
cast  themselves  before  his  horse  ;  they  embraced  his  knees ; 
they  kissed  his  feet  and  the  hem  of  his  garment  ;  and  then, 
almost  unarmed  themselves,  having  nothing  but  a  few  par- 
tisans and  lances,  with  sticks,  stones,  and  any  thing  they 
could  turn  into  a  weapon,  they  attacked  the  followers  of  De 
Montfort,  killed  a  great  many,  and  drove  the  rest  into  the 
citadel. 

The  first  care  of  Raymond  was  to  provide  some  defense  for 
the  town,  the  walls  and  towers  of  which  had  been  entirely 
thrown  down.  The  erection  of  bulwarks  and  palisades  was 
instantly  commenced,  and  a  deep  ditch  was  made  round  the 
city ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  messengers  from  the  Castle  of 
Narbonnois  had  carried  information  of  the  count's  return  and 
the  revolt  of  Toulouse,  both  to  the  Count  de  Montfort  and 
Guy  his  brother,  who  had  remained  in  the  Toulousain  to  keep 
it  in  subjection  during  Simon's  absence.  Both  hurried  toward 
the  scene  of  action  ;  but  the  latter  arrived  first,  accompanied 
by  a  considerable  force,  and  instantly  attempted  to  storm  the 
town  from  the  side  of  the  Plain  of  Montolieu. 

The  citizens  of  Toulouse,  however,  supported  by  the  cavalry 
of  their  own  count  and  theXJount  of  Comminges,  issued  forth 


23-2  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

from  their  ruined  walls,  and  drove  the  enemy  back  with  con- 
siderable loss. 

A  new  attack  was  directed  the  same  evening  against  the 
Gate  of  St.  James ;  but  it  proved  even  less  successful  than  the 
former,  and  Guy  de  Montfort  dispatched  fresh  messengers  to 
his  brother  to  press  his  immediate  advance.  Nor  did  Ray- 
mond fail  to  call  all  his  friends  about  him.  Couriers  were  sent 
out  in  every  direction,  announcing  his  return  ;  and  there  was 
arming  in  haste  throughout  the  whole  of  Gascony,  Foix,  and 
Bigorre.  The  great  nobility  of  the  country  rose  almost  to  a 
man  in  the  cause  of  their  friend  and  ally  ;  and  although  Guy 
de  Montfort  still  lay  within  sight  of  Toulouse,  troop  after  troop 
of  auxiharies  made  its  way  into  the  city,  and  each  was  re- 
ceived with  acclamations  which  reached  and  terrified  the  gar- 
rison of  the  citadel. 

Intelligence  of  Raymond's  return  canie  to  De  Montfort 
while  besieging  the  Castle  of  Crest,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhone. 
Dissembling  the  unfavorable  news  he  had  received,  he  in- 
stantly put  in  motion  his  whole  forces,  which  had  been  swelled 
by  a  large  body  of  crusaders  under  the  command  of  Bertrand, 
cardinal  of  St.  John  and  St.  Paul.  He  did  not  arrive  before 
Toulouse,  however,  till  after  the  defenses  of  the  city  had  been 
repaired  as  far  as  possible ;  but  his  army,  joined  with  that  of 
his  brother  Guy,  was  sufficient  for  the  siege  of  the  town,  and 
a  series  of  operations  followed  which  wearied  and  exhausted 
his  troops  without  producing  any  successful  result. 

Continual  attacks  upon  the  town,  and  combats  in  the  open 
country,  occupied  the  following  nine  months.  The  Count  of 
Foix  joined  his  friends  in  Toulouse  in  the  course  of  the  au- 
tumn, and  the  defense  of  the  place  was  resolute,  active,  and 
untiring.  The  whole  country  showed  their  enmity  toward  De 
Montfort,  by  cutting  off  his  supphes  as  far  as  possible.  His 
soldiers  became  wearied  with  incessant  fatigue  ;  his  brother 
Guy  was  severely  wounded  by  the  quarrel  of  a  crossbow ;  and 
still  no  advantage  was  gained.  In  one  sally,  headed  by  the 
Count  of  Foix,  the  troops  of  De  Montfort  were  totally  defeat- 
ed. No  quarter  was  given,  and  a  terrible  carnage  took  place. 
De  Montfort  himself  fled  with  the  rest  toward  Muret,  but  was 
pressed  so  hardly  by  the  enemy  that  he  was  obliged  to  plunge 
into  the  Garonne,  armed  as  he  was,  and  nearly  perished  in  the 
water.  His  horse  was  drowned,  but  he  himself  was  saved  by 
his  companions;  and,  after  rallying  his  troops  and  receiving 
some  re-enforcemente,  he  renc^d  the  siege  with  more  fury 
than  ever.     In  the  mean  time  the  people  of  Toulouse,  who 


THE   ALBIGENSES.  233 

had  been  stripped  of  all  their  weapons,  were  busily  engaged  in 
manufacturing  arms,  and  in  constructing  military  engines  of 
great  power  and  size.  As  soon  as  all  was  prepared,  some  were 
directed  against  the  Castle  of  Narbonnois,  and  some  against  the 
camp  of  the  besiegers.  Immense  blocks  of  stone,  arrows,  and 
quarrels  were  cast  by  these  great  machines.  The  fortifica- 
tions of  the  citadel  were  nearly  destroyed  :  it  became  neces- 
sary, therefore,  for  De  Montfort  to  employ  against  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  town  the  same  means  which  they  had  used  against 
him.  He  also  constructed  several  great  engines,  and  among 
the  rest  one  called  a  cat,  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  the  pal- 
isades and  opening  an  entrance  into  the  town.  The  defenders 
of  the  place,  on  the  other  hand,  determined  to  destroy  this  ma- 
chine ;  and  the  troops  being  drawn  up  in  the  ditch,  were  about 
to  issue  forth  under  cover  of  a  shower  of  stones  and  arrows 
from  their  catapults  and  mangonels,  when  De  Montfort  hur- 
ried forward  with  some  of  his  most  determined  followers  to  de- 
fend his  artillery.  While  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  engine, 
as  some  assert,  or  in  one  of  the  upper  stages,  as  others  declare, 
De  Montfort  was  struck  on  the  head  by  a  large  mass  of  stone 
from  one  of  the  mangonels,  and  received  several  arrows  as  he 
fell.  He  had  only  time  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  ere  his 
fierce,  ambitious  spirit  departed,  and  with  it  the  life  of  the 
cruel  crusade  against  the  Albigenses.  A  desultory  warfare 
continued  for  some  time  afterward.  People  were  burned  and 
slaughtered  in  Languedoc  at  the  kind  instigation  of  the  monks 
of  St.  Dominic  ;  and  for  many  years  the  total  disruption  of  all 
ties,  the  confusion,  the  anarchy,  and  the  misery,  which  this 
horrible  crusade  had  brought  upon  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
countries  in  the  world,  continued  in  full  force.  The  Count  of 
Toulouse,  however,  continued  to  make  progress  in  recovering 
possession  of  his  territories,  till  a  fit  of  apoplexy  terminated  the 
troublous  course  of  his  existence,  in  the  month  of  August,  1222, 
three  weeks  after  the  death  of  his  friend  the  Count  of  Foix, 
and  four  years  after  the  fall  of  his  great  and  mahgnant  enemy. 
Only  three  years  more  passed  before  the  Count  of  Comminges, 
and  Arnold,  abbot  of  Citeaux,  now  archbishop  of  Narbonne, 
left  the  busy  scene  where  they  had  taken  so  prominent  a  part ; 
but  one  of  the  last  who  closed  his  eyes  upon  all  the  evils  he 
had  caused  was  the  infamous  and  detestable  Fulk,  bishop  of 
Toulouse,  who  expired  in  1231.  If  any  additional  stain  were 
necessary  to  complete  the  blackness  of  this  bad  man's  charac- 
ter, it  is  cast  upon  it  by  one  who  justified  his  crimes  and 
lauded  his  cunning,  but  who  shows  that  he  could  jest  amid 


234  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

the  wretchedness  that  he  had  created,  upon  the  people  who 
had  been  committed  to  his  care,  and  whom  he  betrayed,  per- 
secuted, and  destroyed. 

In  all  the  histories  of  these  times  the  Vaudois  and  the  Al- 
bigenses  are  confounded,  and  it  is  clear  that  in  both  Langue- 
doc  and  Provence  existed  a  number  of  different  sects,  united 
by  their  general  reprobation  of  the  superstitious  crimes  and 
heresies  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  but  differing  from  each  other 
in  their  discipline  and  perhaps  in  their  dogmas.  Some  of 
these  sects  are  loudly  accused  of  Manicheism,  and  perhaps  a 
few  of  the  would-be  philosophers  of  that  age  and  those  dis- 
tricts were  infected  with  the  heresy.  They  must,  however, 
have  been  very  few  indeed  ;  for,  in  all  the  conferences  and  dis- 
putes between  the  emissaries  of  the  pope  and  the  pastors  of 
the  Albigenses,  reported  by  the  persons  most  favorable  to  the 
Church  of  Rome,  and  most  inimical  to  its  opponents,  we  find 
no  doctrine  broached  by  the  latter  to  which  a  sincere  Pfot- 
estant  might  not  conscientiously  subscribe.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
the  charge  was  altogether  one  of  those  frauds  of  which  we 
find  so  many  in  the  history  of  these  events,  and  intended 
merely  to  justify  the  awful  cruelties  perpetrated  by  the  cru- 
saders— cruelties  unparalleled  by  any  which  disgrace  the  his- 
tory of  the  world,  with  the  exception  of  those  exercised  above 
four  centuries  afterward  in  Piedmont  against  a  branch  of  the 
same  people  who  here  suffered  persecution,  and  which  called 
forth  the  beautiful  sonnet  of  Milton,  on  the  massacre  of  Pied- 
mont in  1655 : 

Avenge,  O  Lord,  thy  slanghter'd  saints,  whose  bones 

Lie  scatter'd  on  the  Alpine  Mountains  cold ; 

Ev'n  them  who  kept  thy  truth  so  pure  of  old, 
When  all  our  fathers  worship'd  stocks  and  stones. 
Forget  not :  in  thy  book  record  their  groans 

Who  were  thy  sheep,  and,  in  their  ancient  fold, 

Slain  by  the  bloody  Piedmontese,  that  roll'd 
Mother  with  infant  down  the  rocks.     Their  moans 

The  vales  redoubled  to  the  hills,  and  they 
To  Heaven.     Their  martyr'd  blood  and  ashes  sow 

O'er  all  the  Italian  fielas,  where  still  doth  sway 
The  triple  tyrant;  that  from  these  may  grow 

A  hundred-fuld,  who,  having  learn'a  thy  way, 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  235 


THE  CONSPIRACY  OF  CUEVA. 


VENICE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


In  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  somewhere 
about  the  year  1611,  a  gallant  ship  might  be  seen  sailing 
along  the  coast  oi"  Italy,  somewhat  to  the  northwest  of  Genoa. 
She  was  a  bark  of  no  great  size,  it  is  true,  but  rigged  and 
armed  in  a  manner  not  usually  seen  in  those  waters.  Her 
masts  raked  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  and  on  one  deck  she 
carried  twenty-four  large  guns.  She  was  evidently  a  ship  of 
war,  and  sailed  under  the  flag  of  France  ;  but  the  appearance 
of  the  vessel  altogether  was  totally  different  from  any  that  had 
been  ever  known  to  come  out  of  a  French  dock-yard ;  and 
there  was  something  about  her  which  caused  certain  Genoese 
merchantmen  to  watch  her  with  a  wary  eye,  and  make  all 
sail  for  the  nearest  port. 

Nevertheless,  under  a  bright  and  beautiful  sky,  and  favor- 
ed by  a  steady,  quiet  breeze,  which  lightly  ruffled  the  waters, 
the  fair  ship  sailed  on  her  course  without  seeming  to  notice 
the  apprehension  created  by  her  passage.  On  her  deck  stood 
a  tall,  powerful,  graceful  man,  in  the  early  prime  of  life.  He 
might  be  thirty  years  of  age,  or  perhaps  a  little  more  ;  and 
his  countenance,  almost  as  brown  as  that  of  an  Arab,  and 
bearing  two  deep  scars  upon  it,  showed  that  those  thirty  or 
two-and-thirty  years  had  been  spent  in  laborious  exercises, 
and  probably  in  strife.  His  dress  was  rich,  nay,  even  splendid ; 
but  it  was  of  a  character  rarely  seen  to  the  westward  of  the 
Adriatic,  and  certainly  did  not  accord  at  all  with  the  French 
flag  under  which  he  sailed.  Yet  he  was  evidently  the  com- 
mander of  the  ship  ;  and  as  she  sailed  along  the  coast,  some- 
times gliding  very  near  the  headlands,  sometimes  keeping  fur- 
ther out  to  sea,  the  seamen  obeyed  his  lightest  word  with 
alacrity,  as  if  long  accustomed  to  submit  to  his  orders,  and 
to  rely  upon  his  judgment.     With  a  look  of  calm  satisfac- 


236  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

tion,  mingled,  perhaps,  with  a  slight  shade  of  melancholy, 
he  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  coast,  till  at  length  a  young 
and  beautiful  lady  came  up  from  below  and  joined  him  as 
he  paced  the  deck.  Her  dress  was  of  much  the  same  char- 
acter as  his,  and  any  one  who  had  traveled  in  the  Levant 
would  have  instantly  recognized  it  as  the  costume  of  some 
part  of  Greece ;  but  he  certainly  was  not  a  Greek,  for  his 
features  and  complexion  spoke  plainly  a  more  northern  race. 
With  her  it  might  be  doubtful ;  for,  though  exceeding 
ly  beautiful,  the  pale  olive  tint  of  her  skin,  the  large,  dark, 
lustrous  eyes,  and  the  arched  and  finely-penciled  eyebrows, 
seemed  to  bear  evidence  of  Oriental  birth.  They  spoke  to- 
gether long  and  tenderly  in  a  strange  tongue  ;  and,  albeit  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  in  general  was  stern  and  eager, 
almost  to  fierceness,  toward  her  every  thing  that  was  harsh 
seemed  subdued.  At  length  the  little  port  of  Monaco  came 
in  sight.  Thither  the  vessel  directed  its  course.  One  of  the 
seamen  came  up  to  the  commander  and  spoke  a  few  words 
to  him  in  French.  He  replied  in  the  same  tongue,  "  Oh, 
yes !  Plenty  of  water  for  her  draught.  We  have  been  in 
shallower  harbors  than  that." 

The  lady  went  below  again.  The  commander  steered  with 
hi*  own  hands,  and  the  vessel  was  soon  in  the  harbor  of 
Monaco.  The  officers  of  the  port  came  on  board,  and  seem- 
ed surprised  at  much  that  they  saw  ;  but  the  papers  were  all 
in  due  order,  and  every  formality  was  complied  with.  In  the 
evening  of  the  same  day,  the  commander  and  the  lady  land- 
ed with  several  women  whom  she  brought  with  her ;  and 
during  his  absence,  for  he  went  on  himself  to  Turin,  a  very 
valuable  cargo  was  taken  on  shore. 

At  Turin,  the  commander  of  the  vessel  had  an  immediate 
audience  granted  him  by  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  who  received 
him  with  great  favor  and  distinction,  ordered  whatever  doc- 
uments he  required  to  be  prepared  with  the  utmost  dispatch, 
and  then  sufiered  him  to  return  to  Monaco. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  rumor  spread  through  the  little  port 
that  the  commander  of  the  vessel  was  the  famous  Jacques 
Pierre,  whose  extraordinary  enterprises  against  the  Turks  had 
dignified,  in  the  eyes  of  all  zealous  Catholics,  even  the  crimi- 
nal occupation  of  piracy.  A  thousand  tales  were  told  of  his 
deeds  in  the  Levant ;  how  sometimes  with  a  single  vessel, x)c- 
casionally  aided  by  other  piratical  leaders,  he  had  carried  terror 
and  confusion  into  the  cities  of  the  infidel,  had  scattered  and 
burned  the  Mohammedan  ships,  and  almost  annihilated  the 


THE   CONSPIRACY    OF    CUEVA.  837 

trade  of  Turkey.  Marvels  even  were  reported  of  hinr ;  and, 
of  course,  a  romantic  imagination  embellished  and  exaggerated 
the  truth.  He  had  appeared,  men  said,  when  nobody  believed 
him  to  be  within  many  hundred  miles ;  he  had  obtained  ad- 
mission into  ports  and  fortified  places,  no  one  knew  how  ;  ho 
had  suddenly  started  up  with  a  mere  handful  of  armed  follow- 
ers, in  the  midst  of  a  well-guarded  town,  had  vanquished  all 
before  him,  swept  the  place  of  its  treasures,  and  destroyed  its 
buildings  with  fire. 

Some  of  these  tales  were  true,  some  of  them  false ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is,  that  this  was  the  famous  Jacques  Pierre,  one  of  the 
most  renowned  pirates  of  the  day,  whose  actions,  full  of  chiv- 
alrous daring,  and  marked  by  a  certain  portion  of  generosity 
and  courtesy,  were  looked  upon  with  a  favorable  eye  by  Chris- 
tian princes,  whose  dominions  he  aided  to  defend.  These  ac- 
tions acquired  for  him  glory  and  renown  instead  of  punishment 
and  death. 

Now  what  was  it  brought  him  home,  returning  toward  his 
own  fair  land  of  France,  after  spending  six  or  seven  years  in 
a  way  of  fife  which  seemed  to  render  the  assumption  of  any 
calmer  and  less  perilous  course  utterly  impossible?  Never- 
theless, his  vessel  and  its  cargo  were  sold.  His  companions, 
receiving  a  share  of  all,  which  satisfied  even  their  cupidity, 
parted  from  their  leader  with  tears  and  protestations  of  attach- 
ment, pursued  their  way  to  deeds  and  fate  unknown. 

Jacques  Pierre  himself,  with  his  lovely  wife,  her  attendants, 
and  one  or  two  who  attached  themselves  more  particularly  to 
his  fortunes,  retired  to  the  town  of  Nice,  purchased  a  beauti- 
ful property  on  the  slope  of  the  hills,  and,  with  ample  means 
and  a  heart  apparently  at  ease,  commenced  a  hfe  of  tranquil 
enjoyment.  True,  the  nobility  of  the  land  showed  no  fond- 
ness for  his  society ;  but  Jacques  Pierre  sought  them  not,  and 
seemed  to  look  upon  them  wdth  some  degree  of  scorn.  True, 
the  citizens  regarded  him  with  doubt  and  fear,  and  never 
could  forget  that  he  had  been  the  great  pirate.  The  richest 
merchant  of  Nice  gave  him  the  wall,  and  the  Httle  children 
looked  up  and  held  their  breath  as  he  passed.  But  their  servile 
apprehensions  seemed  to  amuse  and  to  please  Jacques  Pierre. 
Little  did  he  mingle  with  this  class  of  society  either,  though, 
perhaps,  to  the  lower  order  of  citizens,  his  demeanor  was  less 
lofty  and  stern  than  toward  the  higher  classes.  All  his  hap- 
piness seemed  to  lie  in  his  own  home ;  and  there,  in  a  kind  of 
luxurious  but  not  unrefined  indolence,  he  passed  hour  after  hour, 
and  day  after  day,  with  her  he  loved  for  his  sole  companion. 


238  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

During  the  summer  and  the  autumn,  he  would  He  by  her 
side,  under  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  or  of  the  clustering  vines 
upon  the  hill,  and  look  over  the  wide  blue  sea,  and  talk  of 
other  lands  and  other  hours  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  poetry.  Some- 
times his  conversation  was  of  sweet  scenes,  and  beautiful  places 
along  the  fair  shores  or  the  bright  island  of  the  JEgean  Sea. 
Sometimes,  however,  the  adventurous  spirit  of  other  days 
would  seem  to  revive,  and  he  would  speak  of  the  battle,  and 
the  roaring  cannon,  and  the  flashing  steel,  the  flying  enemy, 
the  captured  ship,  the  burning  town.  Then  would  she  sigh 
to  think  that  the  fiercer  part  of  his  nature  was  still  unsubdued. 
He  remained  tranquil,  however,  for  nearly  two  years ;  and 
she  learned  to  think,  or  rather  to  hope,  that  the  thirst  for  act- 
ive enterprise  was  altogether  dying  away. 

They  were  seated  together  opce  more  in  their  garden  on 
the  hill,  enjoying  the  sweet  air  of  the  evening,  and  the  peace- 
ful aspect  of  the  whole  scene.  The  roads,  from  the  villages 
round  about  down  to  the  town,  were  clearly  traced  out,  as  if 
on  a  map  before  their  eyes,  and  were  dotted  here  and  there 
with  peasantry  returning  from  Nice  to  their  homes.  There 
was  one  group,  however,  upon  which  the  eyes  of  Jacques 
Pierre  fixed  more  particularly,  consisting  of  two  horsemen, 
and  a  man  on  foot  who  walked  by  the  side  of  the  horse  on 
the  right  hand,  and  spoke  from  time  to  time  to  the  rider. 
The  road  they  were  upon  led  directly  from  Nice  to  the  coun- 
tr}'-house  of  the  corsair ;  and  when  they  arrived  before  the 
gates,  they  stopped  at  the  door.  One  of  the  servants  of  the 
house  was  soon  after  seen  guiding  a  distinguished-looking 
stranger  through  the  gardens  to  the  spot  where  his  master 
and  mistress  were  ;  and,  rising  to  meet  his  visitor,  Jacques 
Pierre  received  a  letter  from  his  hands,  which,  when  he  read 
it,  seemed  to  agitate  him  a  good  deal.  He  conversed  calmly, 
however,  with  the  stranger  in  the  French  tongue  ;  and  the 
name  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  was  often  mentioned. 

When  the  visitor  was  gone,  after  a  very  brief  stay,  Jacques 
Pierre  seated  himself  by  his  wife  again  ;  and  then  ho  told  her 
that  the  letter  which  he  had  received  was  an  invitation  from 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  viceroy  of  Sicily,  to  come  to  his  court 
and  take  a  high  command  in  his  armies  against  the  Turks. 
The  renown  he,  Jacques  Pierre,  had  acquired  while  waging 
war  against  the  infidel  on  his  own  Jiand,  had  reached  thts 
ears  of  the  viceroy ;  and,  resolved  to  carry  on  with  activity 
the  hostihties  already  commenced  against  the  Turks,  Ossuna 
Bought  for  the  counsel  and  assistance  of  men  who,  like  Jacques 


THE    CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  289 

Pierre,  had  already  distinguished  themselves  against  the  ene- 
mies of  Christianity. 

The  lady  heard  his  words  with  fear  and  pain  ;  for,  though 
he  told  her  he  would  deUberate  upon  the  invitation,  she  knew 
him  well,  and  could  read  upon  his  countenance  the  secret 
emotions  of  his  heart,  with  which  he  himself  was  not  alto- 
gether acquainted.  He  told  her  he  would  deliberate  ;  but 
she  saw  with  grief  that,  without  knowing  it,  he  had  already 
decided. 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  from  that  time  Jacques  Pierre  and 
his  wife  were  on  their  way  to  Messina.  He  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  begin  again,  under  brighter  auspices  and 
a  more  honorable  name,  the  exciting  and  adventurous  career 
to  which  his  youth  had  been  devoted.  Visions  of  glory  and 
renown,  and  wealth  and  dignity,  floated  before  his  eyes.  He 
had  been  accustomed  to  command,  and  he  knew  not  what  it 
is  to  serve.  His  wife  became  reconciled  to  the  loss  of  the 
calm  tranquillity  upon  which  she  had  fixed  her  hopes  by  the 
prospect  of  her  husband's  elevation  and  success ;  and  the 
honor  and  distinction  with  which  they  were  treated  at  Na- 
ples silenced  her  regrets,  if  they  were  not  altogether  to  be 
crushed.  Looked  down  upon  by  the  high  nobles,  regarded  by 
the  lower  orders  with  a  degree  of  awe  approaching  to  fear, 
Jacques  Pierre  had  lived  at  Nice  in  a  state  of  complete  isola- 
tion from  those  around  him.  But  now  the  Viceroy  of  Naples 
applauded  and  sought  him.  The  court  was  open  to  him  ; 
high  command  was  assigned  him  ;  and,  if  we  may  believe  the 
account  of  some  historians,  the  great  Duke  of  Ossuna  treated 
him  as  a  brother.  Surely  this  was  enough  to  reconcile  a  lov- 
ing and  attached  wife  to  the  loss  of  a  portion  of  her  domestic 
peace. 

Galleys  were  equipped,  armed,  and  placed  under  the  com- 
mand of  the  corsair  ;  and  beneath  the  flag  of  Spain  he  sailed 
away  to  the  scenes  of  his  first  achievements.  The  gay  Si- 
cilians watched  his  departure,  and  then  soon  forgot  him, 
though  great  activity  was  displayed  in  their  ports  in  the 
preparation  of  a  more  important  armament  against  the  Turks. 
Ere  that  armament  was  ready,  however,  indeed  before  three 
weeks  were  fully  over,  the  galleys  of  Jacques  Pierre  once  more 
appeared  oft'  the  port,  followed  by  a  number  of  other  vessels, 
each  bearing  the  Turkish  flag  reversed  below  the  flag  of  Spain. 
Loud  acclamations  greeted  the  gallant  sailor  as  he  landed  ; 
and  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  embraced  him  before  the  whole 
court,  pronouncing  his  success  an  omen  of  greater  triumphs 


240  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

to  come.  A  few  weeks  more  passed,  and  the  fleet  was  fully 
equipped  and  put  to  sea.  An  important  command  was  assign- 
ed to  the  corsair  ;  and  day  by  day  as  the  armament  sailed  on, 
it  was  remarked  that  the  viceroy  himself  held  long  consulta- 
tions with  Jacques  Pierre,  to  which  none  but  a  few  officers 
of  the  highest  rank  were  admitted.  At  length  the  Turkish 
fleet  was  discovered  ofl'  the  beautiful  Island  of  Chios.  Im- 
mediate dispositions  were  made  for  battle,  and  a  desperate 
engagement  followed.  Every  movement  of  the  Sicilian  fleet, 
however,  was  successful.  Many  of  the  Turkish  galleys  were 
taken.  More  were  burned ;  and  the  scattered  remnant  of 
the  fleet  found  safety  in  flight  to  various  ports  of  Asia  Minor. 
Many  a  man  in  the  viceroy's  armament  attributed  the  tri- 
umph of  that  day  to  the  councils  of  the  French  corsair,  and 
to  his  activity  in  the  battle.  Ossuna  publicly  thanked  him 
for  both  ;  and  fresh  honors  and  favors  awaited  him  on  his  re- 
turn to  Sicily,  consoling  his  wife  for  his  danger  and  his  ab- 
sence. But  the  smiles  of  a  court  are  very  fickle  ;  and  so  it 
would  seem  Jacques  Pierre  had  still  to  find. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   CONSPIRACY  OF  CUEVA. 

A  YEAR  or  two  passed,  and  the  situation  of  all  parties  was 
changed.  The  Duke  of  Ossuna  was  now  viceroy  of  Naples 
as  well  as  Sicily.  The  war  was  no  longer  with  the  Turks. 
The  German  and  the  Spanish  branches  of  the  house  of  Aus- 
tria were  at  variance  with  the  Venetians  and  the  Duke  of  Sa- 
voy ;  but  negotiations  for  peace  were  going  on,  much  against 
the  will  of  three  remarkable  servants  of  the  Spanish  crown, 
Pedro  of  Toledo,  governor  of  the  Milanese  ;  Pedro  de  Giron, 
duke  of  Ossuna,  viceroy  of  Naples ;  and  Alphonso  de  la  Cueva, 
marquis  of  Bedomar,  the  Spanish  embassador  at  the  court  of 
Venice ;  for,  although  war  actually  existed  between  the  re- 
public and  the  crown  of  Spain,  yet  it  had  never  been  formal- 
ly declared  ;  and  the  Spanish  embassador  had  not  been  with- 
drawn from  the  city  of  the  Adriatic.  A  treaty  of  peace  was 
on  the  point  of  being  signed  ;  but  it  was  well  understood  that 
the  officers  of  the  crown  of  Spain  in  Italy  would  very  unwill- 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  241 

ingly,  if  at  all,  abandon  hostilities  against  Venice,  and  that 
Spain  herself,  perhaps,  might  connive  at  the  prolongation  of 
a  war  by  which  her  subjects  had  been  enriched  and  her  am- 
bitious views  in  Italy  promoted.* 

Still  Jacques  Pierre  had  been  the  friend  and  confidant  of 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  often  actively  serving  the  viceroy,  al- 
ways admitted  to  counsel  and  advise  him.  Wealth  and  hon- 
ors had  fallen  thick  upon  him.  His  house  was  like  that  of  a 
prince,  and  his  companions  were  the  nobles  of  the  land. 

Suddenly  a  change  came  over  the  scene.  Jacques  Pierre 
returned  from  the  palace  of  the  viceroy  with  an  anxious  and 
discontented  countenance.  He  became  irritable,  impatient, 
gloomy.  The  news  spread  through  the  court  that  he  had 
bitterly  offended  the  ruler  of  the  land,  that  he  was  out  of  fa- 
vor, that  he  was  a  disgraced  man.  Courtiei's  began  to  look 
cold  upon  him ;  and  his  wife  did  not  venture  to  ask  what  it 
was  that  oppressed  him.  For  soqie  days  his  house  was  as 
solitary  and  quiet  as  it  had  been  at  Nice ;  but  it  was  not  as 
calm  and  happy.  At  length,  one  evening  when  the  lady  was 
about  to  retire  for  the  night,  her  husband  kissed  her  tenderly, 

*  The  period  to  which  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  i)rotmcted  the  hostilities 
against  Venice,  even  after  the  signature  of  the  treaty  of  Madrid,  is  of 
gi-eat  consequence  to  the  elucidation  of  the  conspiracy  of  Cueva,  or  Be- 
domar,  as  it  has  been  termed.  The  Count  Daru  founds  all  his  reason- 
ing against  St.  Real  upon  the  supposition  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  had, 
even  at  the  time  when  the  supposed  plot  was  laid,  conceived  the  de- 
sign  of  separating  Naples  and  Sicily  from  Spain,  and  erecting  them  into 
a  kingdom  for  himself.  He  shows  that  Ossuua,  in  pursuit  of  this  ob- 
ject, must  have  looked  for  help  to  the  Venetians,  and  that  there  is 
reason  to  suppose  he  did  actually  negotiate  vyith  them ;  but  he  takes 
care  to  give  us  no  dates  in  regard  to  that  negotiation;  and  it  is  perfect- 
ly clear  that,  if  any  such  friendly  negotiation  did  take  place  at  all,  which 
may  be  doubtful,  it  was  posterior  to  June,  1618 ;  for,  during  the  whole 
of  the  autumn  of  16ir,  and  the  spring  of  1618,  Ossuna  was  actually  en- 
gaged in  hostilities  with  the  Venetians,  capturing  their  ships  and  inter- 
rupting their  commerce,  in  spite  of  admonitions,  well  understood  to  be 
insincore,  from  his  own  court.  The  determination  atti-ibuted  to  him, 
of  separating  Naples  from  Spain  and  usui-ping  the  crown,  may  have 
been  suggested  to  him  by  the  feeble  conduct  of  his  own  court  in  these 
very  transactions ;  but  there  is  proof  positive  that,  all  through  the  early 
part  of  1618,  he  committed  various  acts  of  hostilities  against  the  Vene- 
tians, and  neglected  altogether  to  restore  the  prizes  which  he  had  tak- 
en at  the  end  of  the  preceding  year ;  so  that,  on  the  one  hand,  it  h  im- 
possible to  believe  he  was  asking  assistance  from  that  state  in  a  medi- 
tated revolt  against  his  sovereign,  and,  on  the  other,  perfeptly  natural 
to  suppose,  when  his  enterprising  character  is  taken  into  consideration, 
that  he  meditated  the  acquisition  of  Venice  and  its  de;»endent  territo- 
ries, without  much  consideration  of  the  justice  or  injustice  of  the  act, 
or  of  the  formal  engagements  of  his  own  court. 

Ji 


242  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

and  held  her  for  some  moments  to  his  heart.  About  half  an 
hour  after  she  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  in  the  court-yard. 
She  heard  the  gates  thrown  open,  and  some  persons  ride  out ; 
hut  Jacques  Pierre  she  did  not  see  again.  The  next  morn- 
ing a  party  of  the  viceroy's  guard  surrounded  her  dweUing, 
and  searched  it  diligently.  Every  room  was  examined.  The 
gardens  themselves  did  not  pass  unnoticed ;  and  she  was  strict- 
ly interrogated  as  to  what  had  become  of  her  husband. 

She  could  only  answer  that  she  knew  not ;  and  she  was 
then  placed  in  a  carriage  and  conveyed  to  the  Castel  Nuovo. 
There  she  was  kept  a  prisoner,  treated,  it  is  true,  with  honor 
and  distinction,  but  guarded  carefully,  and  suffered  to  hold 
communication  with  none. 

In  the  mean  time,  Jacques  Pierre,  with  a  servant  and  a 
friend,  rode  on  rapidly  toward  Rome,  passed  the  frontiers  of 
Naples,  reached  the  eternal  city,  and,  having  remained  there 
two  or  three  days  holding  private  communications  with  sev- 
eral persons  of  distinction,  set  out  again  for  the  Court  of  Sa- 
voy. At  that  court  he  was  received  with  great  honor  by  the 
duke,  and,  furnished  by  him  with  letters  to  the  Senate  of  Ven- 
ice, commending  highly  to  their  notice  his  courage,  activity, 
and  military  skill,  he  crossed  the  country,  and  reached  the 
shores  of  the  Adriatic  in  the  month  of  August,  1617. 

What  did  Jacques  Pierre  seek  at  Venice  ?  This  is  one  of 
those  mysterious  secrets  which  probably  will  never  be  devel- 
oped. Certain  it  is  that  he  presented  himself  to  the  officers 
of  the  repubhc,  and  that,  although  there  were  many  difficul- 
ties in  the  way  of  a  foreigner  seeking  employment  in  the  Ve- 
netian marine,  whatever  might  be  his  merits  and  whatever 
his  renown,  Jacques  Pierre  obtained  a  command  in  the  fleet, 
some  say  of  one  vessel,  some  say  of  two,  and  some  of  twelve. 
An  ancient  rule  of  the  republic,  it  wouU  seem,  by  which 
none  but  a  noble  Venetian  was  permitted  to  command  one  of 
its  ships  of  war,  was  violated  in  favor  of  Jacques  Fiorre,  and 
perhaps  had  been  so  hkewise  in  other  instances.  Notwith- 
standing this  appointment,  Jacques  Pierre  remained  at  Ven- 
ice, and  frequently,  it  would  appear,  visited  the  Spanish  em- 
bassador, De  la  Cueva,  in  secret,  and  held  long  conferences 
with  him.  He  visited,  also,  but  more  openly,  the  French 
embassador,  Monsieur  Bruslart  de  L6on.  Many  of  his  coun- 
trymen wc-e  at  Venice  at  that  time,  and  some  Neapolitans 
and  Roman.',  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  Among  the 
rest  were  two,  one  apparently  a  Neapolitan,  named  the  Cap- 
tain Alexander  Spinoea,  the  other  a  Frenchman,  named  Ke> 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  243 

nault  d'Arnaud.  The  first,  it  would  appear,  was  an  agent 
of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  who  had  been  iii  Venice  for  some 
time,  a  cunning,  but  vain  man,  whose  objects  in  Venice  are 
not  easily  ascertained.  The  second  was  a  refugee  from 
France,  whom  the  French  embassador  and  his  brother  char- 
acterize as  a  debauched,  drunken  gambler,  a  swindler,  a  rogue, 
"whose  rogueries  were  known  to  all  the  world."  Neverthe- 
less, this  notorious  person  was  apparently  a  favored  visitor  at 
the  house  of  the  embassador,  and  was  often  invited  to  dine  at 
his  table.  With  this  man  Jacques  Pierre  entered  into  some 
degree  of  intimacy,  engaging  him  apparently  as  a  scribe,  aftd 
intending  to  employ  him  as  a  courier. 

During  several  succeeding  months  a  number  of  Frenchmen 
and  Savoyards  took  service  with  the  Venetian  government, 
and  no  disposition  was  shown  to  decrease  their  armaments. 
The  town  was  full  of  foreigners,  and  Jacques  Pierre  seemed 
high  in  the  favor  of  the  Senate.  He  was  consulted  upon  the 
changes  proposed  in  their  military  marine,  and  furnished  them, 
at  their  request,  with  a  complete  scheme  for  its  better  organ- 
ization.* All  passed  smoothly  and  quietly  for  many  months  ; 
and  early  in  May,  1618,  Jacques  Pierre  set  out  for  the  coast 
of  Dalmatia  with  the  Venetian  fleet,  while  Renault  prepared 
to  depart  for  France,  bearing  dispatches  from  the  celebrated 
corsair  to  the  Duke  of  Nevers. 

The  nature  of  these  dispatches  it  may  be  as  well  to  explain. 
The  Duke  of  Nevers  had  some  chimerical  pretensions  to  the 
crown  of  the  Eastern  empire  ;  and  he  had  often  devised  wild 
schemes  for  rousing  the  Greek  population  against  the  Turks, 
and  making  himself  master  of,  at  least,  a  part  of  the  land, 
which  at  one  time  had  been  under  the  domination  of  his  re- 
mote ancestors.  For  many  years  he  had  maintained  a  corre- 
spondence in  the  Morea,  and,  by  his  indiscreet  conversation, 
had  caused  the  death  of  several  distinguished  persons  who 
had  favored  his  views  in  Greece.  Even  to  a  very  late  period 
of  his  life  he  never  laid  aside  his  designs,  and  eagerly  sought 
information  from  any  one  who  could  give  him  intelligence  of 
the  state  of  the  Morea,  and  co-operation  from  all  who  could 

*  Monsieur  Daru  would  have  us  believe  that  Jacques  Pierre  occu- 
pied a  very  inferior  station  in  the  Venetian  marine,  at  the  pitiful  pay 
of  forty  crowns  a  month.  The  very  letters,  however,  of  Monsieur  Brus- 
lart,  which  he  cites,  show  how  high  this  officer  was  in  the  esteem  of 
the  Senate ;  and.  they  prove  that  Jacques  Pierre  could  have  no  need  to 
accept  insignificant  pay  from  the  Venetian  republic,  as  he  had  the  means 
of  furnishing  Renault  with  two  hundred  crowns,  to  carry  a  dispatch  for 
hin^  into  France. 


244  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

assist  in  his  project.  Communications  had  already  taken 
place  between  himself  and  Jacques  Pierre  ;  and  the  dispatch 
now  sent  by  the  hands  of  Renault  contained  a  detailed  plan 
for  an  invasion  of  the  Turkish  empire  combined  with  an  m- 
surrection  of  the  people  of  Greece. 

The  state  of  Venice  at  the  period  which  I  mention,  name- 
ly, the  beginning  of  May,  1618,  though  not  altogether  one  of 
profound  peace,  was,  nevertheless,  prosperous  and  happy.  The 
death  of  the  doge,  Donate,  in  the  early  part  of  the  year,  after 
a  reign  of  about  one  month,  called  Antonio  Priuli  to  the  ducal 
chair.  But  the  newly-elected  doge  was  at  this  time  in  Istria ; 
and,  while  he  hastened  to  receive  the  honor  conferred  upon  him, 
Venice  was  ruled  by  the  vice-doge,  the  Senate,  and  the  Coun- 
cil of  Ten.  Peace  had  been  concluded  between  the  Arch- 
duke Ferdinand  and  the  republic  of  Venice,  and  between  the 
Duke  of  Savoy  and  the  Spanish  government ;  but  war  still 
subsisted  in  reality ;  the  stipulations  of  the  treaties  were  not 
executed  ;  the  fleets  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  viceroy  of  Naples, 
infested  the  Adriatic,  took  the  Venetian  ships,  and  interrupt- 
ed the  commerce  of  the  repubUc  ;  and  Don  Pedro  of  Toledo, 
though  indulging  in  no  active  enterprises  against  Savoy  or 
Venice,  still  neglected  the  orders  of  his  court  to  restore  the 
town  of  Vercelli,  or  to  abandon  his  hostile  attitude  toward  the 
Venetians.  The  utmost  possible  enmity  was  displayed  by  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna  toward  the  repubhc  ;  and  the  armaments 
which  he  prepared  at  Naples,  comprising  many  vessels  of  small 
draughts  of  water,  fitted  to  navigate  the  Lagunes,  gave  much 
apprehension  to  the  Senate.  It  was  generally  reported  too, 
and  was  undoubtedly  the  fact,  that  he  had  caused  maps  of 
Venice  and  its  canals,  and  complete  charts  of  the  shallow  seas 
aroimd,  to  be  made  by  his  agents  in  the  north,  and  transmitted 
to  Naples. 

Bedoraar,  the  Spanish  embassador,  was  at  this  period  in 
Venice.  The  French  embassador  was  absent  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  Loretto,  while  his  brother  supplied  his  place.  The  former 
returned  with  the  new  doge,  Priuli,  who  entered  Venice,  it 
would  appear,  on  the  4th  of  June ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  one 
of  the  most  terrible  tragedies  had  taken  place  to  be  found  in 
the  annals  of  history. 


THE    CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  245 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   CONSPIRACY  OF  CUEVA. 

All  was  quiet  in  Venice.  The  nobles  and  the  Senate 
were  occupied  in  preparations  for  the  reception  of  their  new 
duke.  The  people,  with  whom  he  was  an  especial  favorite, 
rejoiced  over  his  election ;  and  all  looked  forward  to  the  festivi- 
ties which  would  follow  his  arrival,  with  the  satisfaction  of  a 
light-hearted  and  revel-loving  people.  But,  on  the  night  of 
the  fourteenth  of  May,  a  dull  rumor  ran  among  the  populace, 
that  a  terrible  conspiracy  had  been  discovered  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  republic  and  the  burning  of  the  town.  A  great 
number  of  persons  were  said  to  have  been  apprehended  ;  and 
every  one  sought  information,  but  no  one  could  obtain  it.  The 
Senate  seemed  ignorant  of  the  transaction ;  the  Council  of 
Ten  were  mute  ;  but  still  numerous  arrests  took  place.  The 
lodgings  of  all  strangers  in  the  town  were  visited  ;  the  inns 
and  places  of  public  entertainment  were  searched  ;  and  it  was 
soon  ascertained  that  the  public  prisons  were  crowded  by  more 
than  three  hundred  new  tenants.  The  Inquisitors  and  the 
Council  of  Ten  were  busy  from  morning  till  night ;  and  the 
effects  of  their  activity  were  soon  seen.  Several  dead  bodies 
were  found  hung  upon  gibbets  in  the  place  of  St.  Mark,  and 
the  waters  of  the  canals  bore  up  a  number  of  corpses. 

Still  the  Council  of  Ten  maintained  the  most  profound  si- 
lence ;  but  rumor  gave  out  the  details  of  the  event  as  follows, 
before  the  twenty-second  of  the  month.  The  famous  Jacques 
Pierre,  it  was  said,  together  with  an  engineer  officer  of  the 
name  of  Langlade,  who  had  accompanied  him  from  Naples, 
a  French  officer  of  the  name  of  Tournon,  two  brothers  of  the 
name  of  Desbouleaux,  and  Renault  d'Arnaud,  had  conspired 
together  to  introduce  a  number  of  foreign  soldiers  into  the 
town,  for  the  purpose  of  seizing  upon  it  on  the  day  of  Ascen- 
sion. According  to  this  rumor,  their  plan  was  to  seize  upon 
the  place  of  St.  Mark,  the  arsenal,  the  arms  collected  in  the 
halls  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  the  treasury,  to  take  posses- 
sion of  all  the  principal  avenues,  to  set  fire  to  a  part  of  the 
town,  and,  having  obtained  possession  of  the  armed  galley 
which  lay  opposite  the  palace,  to  use  the  artillery  which  it 


246  DARK    SCENES    OF   HISTOHY. 

contained  for  the  purpose  of  fortifying  themselves  in  the  prin- 
cipal positions  they  had  taken.  They  were  there  to  main- 
tain themselves  as  best  they  could  till  the  arrival  of  the  fleet 
of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  which  was  already  in  the  Adriatic, 
only  waiting  for  intelligence  to  advance.  Another  fleet,  it 
was  said,  had  been  prepared  at  Trieste  and  Fiume,  for  the 
purpose  of  capturing  Marano.  This  tale  was  generally  credit- 
ed among  the  Venetian  people  ;  and  it  was  reported  that  eight 
hundred  strangers  had  fled  from  Venice,  immediately  after 
the  first  arrests  had  been  made.* 

A  Ithough  among  the  bodies  of  the  dead  which  were  found 
there  were  several  Venetians,  yet  the  greater  part  were  rec- 
ognized as  Frenchmen.  Nevertheless,  every  rumor  pointed 
to  the  Spanish  government  as  the  authors  of  the  conspiracy ; 
and  the  populace  in  fury  menaced  the  house  of  De  la  Cueva, 
and  insulted  the  Frenchmen  who  ventured  into  the  streets. 

Nor  were  the  sanguinary  executions  confined  to  Venice. 
Many  of  the  strong  places  of  the  republic  witnessed  the  same 
sanguinary  deeds.  The  engineer  Langlade  was  ill  at  Zara, 
and  attended  by  a  servant  and  a  page.  Suddenly  the  house 
was  invested  by  a  company  of  arquebusiers.  Langlade  was 
dragged  from  his  bed,  the  servant  and  the  page  were  seized, 
and  all  three  shot  down,  as  soon  as  they  were  brought  out, 
without  examination,  trial,  or  confession. 

But  what  became  of  Jacques  Pierre  ?  He  had  sailed  away 
from  Venice  with  the  fleet,  honored,  and  apparently  content- 
ed with  the  distinction  he  received  from  the  republic.  His 
only  cause  of  anxiety  or  regret  seems  to  have  been  the  deten- 
tion of  his  fair  wife  in  Naples ;  but  we  find  that  he  consoled 
himself,  i'rom  day  to  day,  with  the  hope  of  her  liberation, 
though  we  know  not  that  he  had  any  good  foundation  for 
such  an  expectation.  The  fleet  was  lying  off  the  coast  of 
Dalmatia,  watching,  it  would  appear,  for  the  ships  of  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna,  when  a  quick  saihng  galliot  arrived  from 
Venice,  and  an  officer  went  on  board  the  admiral's  ship. 
Shortly  after  a  signal  was  made  for  Jacques  Pierre  to  come 
on  board,  which  he  immediately  obeyed,  accompanied  by  one 
servant  and  the  rowers  of  his  barge.  There  is  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  a  council  was  then  held,  and  that  the  opinion  of 
the  famous  corsair  was  asked  ujwn  several  points.  As  soon 
as  he  returned  to  the  deck,  however,  rude  hands  were  laid 
upon  him  ;  and  the  fatal  preparations  that  ho  saw  gave  the 

•  Such  ii  the  report  made  to  his  povernnient  by  the  brother  of  the 
FrsQch  •mbaaMdor,  then  mipplying  his  plnre,  on  the  22d  of  May,  1618. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  247 

first  intimation  that  his  death  was  determined.  He  wished 
to  speak  ;  but  they  would  not  hear  him.  He  asked  a  con- 
fessor ;  but  they  would  not  grant  him  one.  The  fatal  cord 
was  twined  round  his  neck,  and  after  a  brief  struggle  the 
body  was  put  into  a  sack  and  cast  into  the  sea.* 

It  has  never  been  known  how  many  persons  were  secretly 
executed ;  but  the  general  belief  is,  that  more  than  three 
hundred  perished  either  by  the  cord  or  by  the  water. f 

As  the  accusations  of  the  Spanish  government  became 
more  generally  spread  among  the  people,  the  popular  rage 
was  excited  to  the  highest  point.  The  house  of  the  embassa- 
dor was  thi'eatened  with  pillage,  and  his  person  was  certainly 
in  danger.' 

De  la  Cueva  presented  himself  before  the  vice-doge  and 
College,  to  demand  protection  ;  and  if  the  formal  account  of 
his  audience,  rendered  by  the  doge  to  the  resident  of  the  re- 
public in  Milan,  can  be  trusted,  he  somewhat  forgot  his  dig- 
nity and  pride  in.  the  fear  which  possessed  him.  Although 
neither  the  Senate,  nor  the  College,  nor  the  Council  of  Ten, 
had  brought  any  charge  against  him,  nor,  indeed,  had  com- 
municated to  any  one,  up  to  that  time,  the  particulars  of  the 
conspiracy,  he  defended  himself  almost  as  if  he  were  upon  his 
trial,  declaring  that  he  had  refused  even  to  listen  to  several 
foreigners,  who  had  wished  to  speak  with  him  on  matters  of 
importance  ;  but  he  acknowledged  a  fact  of  much  significance, 
namely,  that  rumors  had  reached  him,  from  time  to  time,  that 
the  strangers  with  which  the  town  was  filled  were  accustom- 
ed to  talk  rashly  among  themselves  in  public  places,  saying 
that  they  could  do  such  and  such  things  if  they  liked.  He 
protested,  however,  that  he  had  never  listened  to  these  men 
himself 

The  vice-doge  and  his  council  heard  him  in  cold  silence, 
gave  him  no  explanation  whatever,  neither  accused  nor  ex- 
culpated him,  and  merely  replied  that  the  council  would  con- 
sider his  application,  and  send  him  an  answer.  He  then  ve- 
hemently renewed  his  demand  for  protection  against  the  peo- 

*  I  have  chosen  what  seems  to  me  the  most  probable  account  of  the 
death  of  this  celebrated  and  unfortunate  man.  Some  say  that  he  was 
placed  in  the  sack  still  living;  but  in  the  letters, of  the  French  chan- 
cery it  is  stated  that  he  was  first  strangled. 

t  Forty-five  persons  were  drowned  at  the  lime  of  the  execution  of 
Jacques  Pierre,  and  two  hundred  and  sixty  were  executed  on  land,  ac- 
cording to  a  cotemporary  manuscript  account  of  the  proceedings,  of 
which  two  copies  exist,  one  in  Paris,  the  other  at  Venice.  The  author 
is  unknown. 


248  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

pie,  and  quitted  the  hall.  On  the  27th  of  May  he  wrote  to 
the  Senate,  and  demanded  another  audience.  The  vice-doge 
received  him  as  before  ;  and  he  once  more  broke  out  into  ve- 
hement protestations  of  his  innocence,  admitting  that  those 
-who  had  been  executed  weie  culpable,  especially  one  who  had 
been  put  to  death  the  day  before,  but  whom  he  does  not  name. 
He  reiterated,  also,  his  apphcation  for  protection,  and  retired, 
after  receiving  a  very  brief  answer,  merely  assuring  him  that 
means  had  been  taken  to  secure  the  peace  of  the  town.  He 
remained  rather  more  than  a  fortnight  in  Venice  after  this  au- 
dience, and  then,  pretending  that  he  had  received  an  invita- 
tion to  Milan,  quitted  the  capital  of  the  repubhc  never  to  re- 
turn. We  do  not  find  that  he  took  any  formal  leave  of  the 
doge  or  the  Senate,  but,  nevertheless,  the  resident  at  Milan 
was  directed  not  only  to  watch  his  conduct,  but  to  pay  him  a 
visit  of  ceremony,  showing  the  great  reluctance  which  the 
government  of  Venice  had  to  charge  him  publicly  with  a  di- 
rect share  in  the  conspiracy.  The  resident,  however,  as  well 
as  the  embassador  from  Venice  at  the  court  of  Spain,  had 
distinct  intimation  that  he  had  fomented  that  conspiracy  ;  but 
the  latter,  though  furnished  with  all  the  particulars,  and  or- 
dered to  demand  the  recall  of  Bedomar  in  a  personal  audience 
of  the  King  of  Spain,  was  directed  "  to  keep  to  general  terms, 
limiting  himself  to  stating  that  motives  of  great  gravity  had 
determined  the  council  to  adopt  the  measures  which  it  had 
taken."  This  letter  to  the  Venetian  embassador  in  Spain  is 
dated  the  2d  of  July,  1618  ;  and  this  is  the  first  occasion  on 
which  we  find  the  Senate  distinctly  charging  De  la  Cueva 
with  taking  part  in  a  plot  against  the  town  ;  but  the  charge 
thus  made  fully  justifies  the  application  of  the  name  which 
has  been  usually  given  to  these  transactions,  namely,  The  con- 
spiracy of  Bedomar. 

In  this  sad  transaction,  as  I  have  stated,  more  than  three 
hundred  persons  lost  their  lives.  A  great  number  were  tor- 
tured in  the  most  frightful  manner,  and  still  more  were  either 
strangled  in  their  dungeons  or  secretly  drowned.  For  some 
time  after  the  discovery  executions  continued  ;  but  the  deep 
mystery  with  which  the  Council  of  Ten  enveloped  all  their 
proceedings,  and  concealed  the  evidence  upon  which  they  act- 
ed, caused  doubts  to  arise  in  the  minds  of  many  persons  as  to 
the  existence  of  a  conspiracy  at  all.  A  controversy  afterward 
arose  as  to  the  cause  of  these  sanguinary  executions  ;  and  peo- 
ple, as  is  common  in  controversies,  forgot  the  guidance  of  com- 
luou  8CILBC,  boniewhat  deviated  from  plain  and  slraightforwaixl 


THE    CONSPIRACY    OF   CUEVA.  249 

truth,  and  corrupted  or  misinterpreted  evidence,  in  order  to 
support  the  view  which  each  had  taken.  I  shall  now  exam- 
ine into  the  simple  facts  which  are  known,  and  briefly  discuss 
the  systems  which  have  been  raised  upon  them,  without  any 
hope  of  being  able  satisfactorily  to  explain  all  the  dark  points 
in  one  of  the  most  obscure  transactions  on  record,  but  perfect- 
ly certain  of  being  able  to  show  that  the  last  hypothesis  which 
has  been  put  forward  (that  of  the  Count  Daru)  has  not  the 
slightest  foundation  in  fact. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    CONSPIRACY   OF    CUEVA. 

There  are  many  transactions  in  the  history  of  states  or  of 
individuals  in  regard  to  which  motives  of  pohcy  or  of  shame 
require  all  evidence  to  be  suppressed,  as  far  as  possible.  Such 
was  the  case  in  regard  to  the  execution  of  an  immense  num- 
ber of  people  at  Venice  in  1618.  It  must  be  remarked,  how- 
ever, that  secrecy  was  an  immemorial  part  of  the  police  sys- 
tem at  Venice,  and  that,  in  most  instances,  the  denunciation, 
the  trial,  and  the  execution  took  place  in  secret.  Especial 
care,  however,  seems  to  have  been  employed  on  the  present 
occasion  to  prevent  any  of  the  particulars  transpiring  for  some 
months,  and  especial  motives  may  be  easily  discovered  for 
.such  conduct.  Peace  had  just  been  concluded  with  the  house 
of  Austria  ;  the  resources  of  the  republic  had  been  greatly  di- 
minished by  the  necessity  of  paying  large  subsidies  to  the 
Duke  of  Savoy  during  the  war  ;  the  Dutch  troops  in  the  serv- 
ice of  Venice  were  in  a  very  mutinous  state ;  France  and 
Spain  were  on  more  friendly  terms  than  had  existed  between 
them  for  many  years ;  and  boldly  to  accuse  the  Spanish  em- 
bassador of  so  horrible  a  crime  as  conspiring  against  the  peace 
and  safety  of  a  friendly  city,  and  engaging  a  band  of  despera- 
does to  fire  and  plunder  it,  must  inevitably  have  brought  on 
a  war  with  one  and  probably  with  both  branches  of  the  house 
of  Austria.  Venice  would  have  seen  herself,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, without  any  efficient  allies,  and  her  utter  ruin 
must  have  been  the  consequence.  It  is  easy  to  understand, 
therefore,  that,  however  culpable  the   Spanish  embassador 

L2 


250  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

might  be,  it  was  necessary  to  act  with  the  greatest  possible 
discretion  in  demanding  his  recall,  and  to  suppress  every  thing 
which  might  appear  like  a  scandalous  charge  against  the 
crown  of  Spain. 

The  public  documents  which  remain  regarding  this  trans- 
action are  exceedingly  few,  and  their  inlbrination  scanty. 
They  divide  themselves  into  two  classes  :  those  of  which  the 
authenticity  is  undoubted,  and  those  which  are  not  proved  to 
be  authentic.  The  first  class  comprises  a  number  of  letters 
of  the  Senate  and  the  doge  to  the  V^enetian  resident  at  Milan, 
and  the  reports  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  which  were  forwarded 
to  him  for  his  private  information,  together  with  the  corre- 
spondence of  Bruslart,  the  French  embassador,  with  his  court. 
That  these  documents  were  written  by  the  parties  to  whom 
they  are  attributed,  there  is,  I  believe,  no  doubt ;  but  that 
the  writers  were  always  sincere  in  the  views  expressed,  or  ac- 
curate in  regard  to  the  facts  stated,  is  another  question,  find 
may  be  doubtful. 

The  documents,  respecting  the  authenticity  of  which  we 
have  no  very  distinct  proof,  but  which  yet  are  worthy  of  much 
attention,  are  three  in  number.  The  first  is  called  a  summary 
of  the  conspiracy,*  and  contains  a  long  account  of  the  denun- 
ciation of  the  plot,  the  examinations  of  the  conspirators,  the 
tortures  to  which  they  were  subjected,  their  execution,  and 
the  precautions  taken  by  the  republic.  The  author  is  un- 
known, and  the  account  differs  materially  from  that  given 
by  the  Council  of  Ten,  on  the  16th  of  September  and  the 
17th  of  October,  and  transmitted  to  the  resident  at  Milan 
soon  after.  The  compilation,  therefore,  can  not  be  looked 
upon  as  an  authorized  report ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  contains 
many  statements  confirmed  by  other  evidence.  The  next  is 
a  letter  from  Jacques  Pierre  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  dated  the 
7th  of  April,  1618.  A  copy  exists  at  Paris,  and  another  is  to 
be  found  in  the  library  of  the  Camaldolites  of  St.  Michael, 
near  Venice.  The  authenticity  of  this  paper  has  not  been 
proved,  but  the  style  is  perfectly  similar  to  that  of  other  let- 
ters of  Jacques  Pierre  which  are  known  to  be  genuine ;  the 
details  are  in  complete  accordance  with  many  known  facts, 
and  are  so  minute  and  particular  that  the  slightest  error  would 
be  discoverable,  and  betray  the  fabrication ;  and  the  authen- 
ticity is,  moreover,  confirmed  by  several  facts  which  appear 
accidentally  in  the  reports  of  the  Council  of  Ten.  The  letter 
*  Sommario  della  congiura  fatta  contro  la  gareniMima  republica  di 


THE    CONSPIRACY    OF    CUEVA.  851 

18  long  and  comprehensive.  It  refers  to  several  transactions 
between  the  writer  and  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  and  to  the  in- 
trigues then  going  on  in  Venice  ;  and  it  contains  a  complete 
and  well-organized  plan  for  surprising  that  city,  and  giving  it 
up  to  the  troops  of  the  viceroy;  Though  the  authenticity  is 
not  proved  upon  irrefragable  evidence,  and  although  the  de- 
signs implied  seem  inconsistent  with  known  facts,  yet  I  can 
not  doubt  that  the  epistle  was  written  by  Jacques  Pierre,  and 
am  inchned  to  believe  that  Monsieur  Daru  only  doubted  the 
genuineness  because  the  letter  was  totally  opposed  to  the 
hypothesis  he  had  formed. 

The  third  class  of  doubtful  documents  consists  of  the  min- 
utes of  the  information  given  by  Jacques  Pierre,  at  various 
times,  to  the  Venetian  government,  regarding  the  designs  of 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna  and  the  Marquis  of  Bedomar  against  the 
town.  These  minutes  were  inclosed  by  the  French  embassa- 
dor to  his  government,  after  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy, 
with  a  view  of  proving  that  no  conspiracy  existed.  He  states, 
at  the  same  time,  that  the  information  was  given  by  Jacques 
Pierre  about  ten  months  before,  and  that  he.  Monsieur  Brus- 
lart,  was  cognizant  of  the  fact.  It  is  to  be  remarked,  how- 
ever, that  these  papers  are  not  in  the  handwriting  of  Jacques 
Pierre,  but  in  that  of  Renault  d' Arnaud,  qualified  as  a  drunk- 
ard, a  gambler,  and  a  swindler ;  and  that  they  are  only  au- 
thenticated by  the  testimony  of  the  French  embassador,  who 
does  not  say  how  they  came  into  his  possession.  It  can  not 
escape  attention  either,  as  a  most  extraordinary  and  unac- 
countable fact,  that  Monsieur  Bruslart  should  have  known  for 
ten  long  months  the  design  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  upon  Ven- 
ice, and  yet  should  never  have  communicated  such  important 
intelligence  to  his  own  government  till  after  the  discovery  in 
May,  1618.  That  these  last  documents  were  originally  really 
written  by  Jacques  Pierre,  I  very  much  doubt. 

Such,  then,  are  the  historical  sources  from  which,  we  have 
to  form  our  opinion  of  the  various  accounts  which  have  been 
given  of  this  obscure  and  terrible  transaction.  I  will  now 
proceed  to  examine  the  views  put  forth  by  various  parties  re- 
garding the  conspiracy,  passing  over  very  lightly  the  most 
famous  account  of  the  conspiracy  which  has  appeared,  name- 
ly, that  of  St.  Real,  inasmuch  as  it  is  evidently  founded  upon 
the  Italian  summary  of  the  conspiracy  which  I  have  men- 
tioned, with  various  alterations  and  embellishments,  wherein 
ornament  has  been  considered  more  than  truth. 

The  first  account  of  the  conspiracy  'wrhich  I  shall  consider 


252  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

is  that  given  by  the  Venetian  government  itself ;  and,  as  more 
and  more  information  was  communicated  to  its  diplomatic 
agents  at  various  times,  it  will  be  necessary  to  mark  the  period 
at  which  each  communication  took  place. 

Within  a  verj^  short  time  after  the  first  arrests  were  made 
and  the  executions  commenced,  it  has  been  seen  that  rumors 
spread  among  the  people  regarding  the  object  of  the  detected 
conspiracy,  and  the  parties  imphcated.  These  rumors  were 
transmitted  to  the  French  government  by  Monsieur  Broussin 
on  the  22d  of  May,  1618.  Nevertheless,  the  Council  of  Ten 
maintained  the  most  profound  silence,  and  proceeded  with  the 
work  of  butchery  in  darkness  and  in  secret.  There  is  not  the 
slightest  trace  of  their  liaving  communicated  the  particulars 
of  the  conspiracy,  or  the  evidence  upon  which  they  acted,  to 
the  Senate,  to  the  vice-doge,  or  to  any  of  the  diplomatic  agents. 
The  first  hint  of  the  complicity  of  Bedomar  in  the  transactions 
which  had  given  occasion  for  such  frightful  executions  is  con- 
tained in  a  letter  from  the  three  inquisitors  of  state  to  the 
Venetian  resident  at  Milan,  on  the  6th  of  June,  1618.  On 
the  11th  of  the  same  month,  a  letter  from  the  doge  to  the 
same  personage  (Vincenti)  makes  the  charge  distinctly.  Pri- 
uli  says,  "  It  appears  clearly  from  these  proceedings  that  the 
embassador  of  the  Catholic  king  resident  with  us  had  a  great 
part  in  this  scheme,  and  he  can  not  himself  deny  it." 

An  account  is  then  given  of  the  interviews  I  have  men- 
tioned between  Bedomar  and  the  Senate.  Although  the  let- 
ter of  the  Senate,  dated  the  2d  of  July,  to  the  Venetian  em- 
bassador in  Spain,  directing  him  to  demand  the  recall  of  Bedo- 
mar, undoubtedly  contained  the  Venetian  version  of  the  whole 
transaction,  a  copy  of  the  statement  then  sent  has  not  come 
down  to  us.  Wc  only  know  that  the  Senate  ordered  the  em- 
bassador to  communicate  with  the  king  in  person,  to  use  the 
utmost  discretion,  and  to  avoid  most  scrupulously  making  any 
charge  against  the  Spanish  people  or  crown  which  could  give 
even  a  pretext  for  offense,  but  at  the  same  time  firmly,  though 
respectfully,  to  demand  the  recall  of  De  la  Cueva.  A  letter 
from  the  doge,  on  the  20th  of  July,  announces  that  Bedomar 
had  been  iJcBlled.*     On  the  31st  of  July  and  the  16th  of 

*  Monsieur  Daru  concludes,  from  the  date  of  this  letter,  that  the  re- 
call of  Bedomar  could  not  have  been  occasioned  by  the  applicafion  of 
the  Senate.  This  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  jwrfecUy  clear.  Twen- 
tv-six  days  had  elapsed  since  the  applicatioi)  had  been  made ;  and  it 
(foes  not  appear  impossible  that  oven  an  ordinary  courier  should  per- 
form the  journey  to  Madrid  and  back  in  the  given  time.  The  matter, 
however,  is  not  of  very  frreat  imj^ortanco.  ' 


THE    CONSPIRACY    OF    CUEVA.  253 

September  we  have  two  reports  made  by  the  Council  of  Ten. 
The  first  of  these  only  touches  generally  on  the  designs  against 
the  town  of  Venice,  but  enters  particularly  into  the  details  of 
a  plot  for  the  surprise  of  the  town  of  Crema,  which  was  to 
have  been  executed  at  the  same  time  with  the  attempt  upon 
Venice.  It  accuses  Don  Pedro,  of  Toledo,  in  concert  with  the 
Marquis  of  Bedomar,  of  having  seduced  the  foreign  soldiery 
in  the  pay  of  Venice,*  and  states  that  the  plot  at  Crema  had 
been  discovered  by  one  of  the  soldiqjs  of  the  garrison,  who, 
struck  with  terror  on  hearing  of  the  executions  in  Venice,  con- 
fessed the  whole.  The  report  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  on  the 
16th  of  September,  is  a  further  exposition  of  the  Venetian 
view  of  the  case.  It  states  that  a  Frenchman,  who  had  not 
taken  part  in  the  plot,  but  who  had  heard  the  designs  of  the 
conspirators,  had  revealed  them  to  the  Venetian  government, 
without  any  promise  of  reward  or  even  any  security  for  his 
own  life ;  and  it  declares  that  his  information  had  been  con- 
firmed by  the  confession  of  the  culprits  under  the  torture,  and 
by  a  letter  from  one  of  the  conspirators  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna, 
found  in  the  valise  of  a  person  condemned,  together  with  a 
letter  of  recommendation  to  the  viceroy,  written  by  the  Span- 
ish embassador.  "  The  writer  complains,"  says  the  report, 
speaking  of  the  former  letter,  "  that  a  favorable  occasion  has 
been  lost,"  which  is  exactly  similar  to  a  passage  in  the  letter 
of  Jacques  Pierre,  before  mentioned.  The  report  then  goes 
on  to  state  that  this  was  not  the  only  proof  of  the  conspiracy 
which  had  been  obtained.  A  person  o4'  quality  and  judgment 
in  the  service  of  the  republic,  and  who  perfectly  understood 
the  French  language,  had  been  concealed  in  a  place  where 
the  conspirators  met,  and  heard  the  whole  of  their  conversa- 
tion. The  same  person  had  moreover  seen,  the  report  states, 
in  the  house  of  the  embassador,  a  number  of  letters  from  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna,  some  addressed  to  De  la  Cueva  himself,  some 
to  one  of  his  intimates  charged  with  the  direction  of  the  plot. 
It  was  this  latter  personage,  the  council  asserts,  who  wrote  the 
intercepted  letter  above  mentioned.  The  report  then  proceeds 
to  state  that  the  discoveries  made  at  Crema  had  thrown  great 
light  upon  the  proceedings  of  the  conspirators  at  Venice,  and 

*  The  words  are  "  in  the  course  of  the  last  months."  The  report  is 
dated  on  the  Slst  of  July,  and  Monsieur  Daru  very  unfairly  asks  how' 
the  embassador  could  seduce  the  soldiers  in  the  month  of  June,  when 
the  conspiracy  was  discovered,  at  the  latest,  on  the  14lh  of  May  ?  He 
does  not  remark  that  the  word  months  is  in  the  plural,  and  is  a  com- 
pletely vague  expression,  which  might  apply  to  any  two  or  three 
pionths  before. 


254  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

that  orders  had  been  sent  to  th«  captain  general  to  put  to 
death  Jacques  Pierre  and  Langlade  with  as  little  publicity 
as  possible,  ample  proofs  of  their  crimes  having  been  obtained 
after  their  departure  for  the  fleet. 

The  most  lull  and  important  of  all  these  docimients,  how- 
ever, is  a  letter  of  the  doge  to  the  resident  at  Milan,  dated 
the  19th  of  October,  1618,  and  containing  a  report  made  by 
the  Council  of  Ten  on  the  17th  of  the  same  month.  The 
letter  states  that  some^oreign  courts  had  been  led  to  believe 
that  the  accounts  of  the  conspiracy  which  had  been  discov- 
ered at  Venice  were  without  foundation ;  and  it  directs  the 
resident  to  refute  these  insinuations,  and  to  sustain  the  fact 
and  the  necessity  of  the  measures  taken  by  his  government. 
He  is  enjoined,  however,  on  no  occasion  to  begin  the  subject, 
always  to  lay  the  blame  upon  ministers,  and  never  to  mix  the 
names  of  princes  with  the  question.  The  new  report  of  the 
Council  of  Ten  is  inclosed,  probably  for  his  own  information. 
That  most  important  document  makes  the  following  state- 
ments : 

•'  In  the  month  of  March  last,  a  Frenchman  from  the  prov- 
ince of  Languedoc,  named  Montcassin,  of  the  age  of  about 
thirty  years,  of  respectable  birth,  a  man  of  courage,  enterprise, 
and  of  a  shrewd  mind,  came  to  Venice. 

"  He  obtained  from  the  council  a  military  employment,  and 
ofTered  to  raise  a  company  of  three  hundred  French  musket- 
eers. A  few  days  after,  the  Captain  Jacques  Pierre,  one  of 
the  chiefs  of  the  conspiracy,  having  arrived,  imagined  that 
this  Montcassin,  who  passed  for  a  clever  man,  might  be  use- 
ful in  the  execution  of  the  evil  designs  which  he,  Jacques 
Pierre,  meditated." 

The  report  then  goes  on  to  state  that  Jacques  Pierre  en- 
tered into  conversation  with  Montcassin  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Mark,  caressed  him  greatly,  asked  him  to  dinner,  made  him 
sleep  at  his  house,  and  ultimately  revealed  his  project  to  him, 
after  having  sworn  him  to  secrecy.  He  used  many  argu- 
ments to  induce  him  to  quit  the  service  of  the  republic,  showed 
how  slow  it  was  in  promoting  officers,  how  little  satisfaction 
it  had  given  to  foreigners  in  its  service,  and  added,  that  it  was 
a  miracle  that  the  town  had  escaped  being  taken  by  surprise 
long  before.  He  ridiculed  the  Venetians  exceedingly  on  ac- 
count of  their  want  of  mihtary  qualities,  and  declared  that,  in 
Turkey,  he  had  once  executed  a  similar  enterprise  without  the 
loss  of  a  single  man.  He,  with  some  of  his  companions,  sub- 
•oquently  led  Montcassin  to  the  top  of  the  Tower  of  St.  Mark, 


THE    CONSPIRACY    OF    CUEVA.  255 

showed  him  the  two  channels  which  communicated  with  the 
deep  sea,  and  declared  that  he  could  bring  a  vessel  up  to  the 
very  Square  of  St.  Mark.  He,  moreover,  remarked,  that  in 
Venice  more  honors  were  given  to  a  lackey  than  to  a  soldier, 
and  told  his  companion,  that  although  the  Venetians  had  now 
some  troops  in  the  forts,  where  formerly  there  were  none,  they 
were  the  merest  scum.  He  declared  that  he  had  demanded 
money  of  the  Spanish  embassador  for  the  purpose  of  introduc- 
ing foreign  soldiers  into  the  forts,  besides  the  thirty  or  forty 
who  were  there  already,  and  that  the  embassador  had  prom- 
ised him  more  than  he  had  asked.  Jacques  Pierre  also  insti- 
gated Montcassin  to  write  to  Naples  that  they  should  render 
the  imprisonment  of  his  wife  more  strict,  and  make  much  noise 
about  this  severity,  in  order  to  better  conceal  the  projects 
agreed  upon.  The  corsair  then  developed  his  W'hole  plan  for 
the  surprise  of  the  toAvn.  The  Duke  of  Ossuna  was  to  send 
him  two  or  three  galleons,  with  five  hundred  picked  men.  As 
soon  as  they  were  within  sixty  miles  of  Venice,  a  felucca  would 
be  dispatched  to  give  him  notice  of  their  approach.  The  first 
favorable  night  would  be  chosen  for  the  ships  to  get  in  shore 
as  far  as  possible ;  the  conspirators  would  then  take  arms  and 
set  fire  to  the  town  in  various  places,  in  order  to  distract  the 
people,  while  Langlade  burst  open  the  gates  of  the  arsenal 
with  a  petard.  The  mint  was  also  to  be  seized ;  and  the  con- 
spirators, divided  into  three  battalions,  were  to  cover  the  dis- 
embarkation of  the  troops,  and  maintain  their  ground  in  the 
town  in  expectation  of  news  from  the  garrison  of  a  place,  the 
name  of  which  is  omitted.* 

Various  other  conversations  between  Jacques  Pierre,  Lang- 
lade, and  Montcassin  are  recapitulated  in  the  report,  from 
which  it  appeared  that  the  intention  of  the  conspirators  M^as 
to  seize  the  Palace  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  to  massacre  all  the 
members,  to  attack  the  armory,  to  set  fire  to  the  arsenal,  to 
take  possession  of  the  Place  of  St.  Mark  and  the  Rialto,  and 

*  The  plan  laid  out  in  the  letter  attributed  to  Jacques  Pierre  is  a  much 
more  formidable  affair  than  this  wild  and  hopeless  scheme  developed 
by  Montcassin,  who,  it  would  appear,  was  only  partially  informed.  His 
means  were  to  have  been  five  thousand  men,  whom  he  had  either  se- 
duced among  the  Dutch  troops,  or  gathered  together  from  different 
parts  in  Venice  and  its  neighborhood,  together  with  the  whole  mass  of 
prisoners  in  the  city,  who  were  to  be  liberated  and  armed  ;  the  cannon 
from  the  arsenal  and  the  armed  galleys  were  to  be  put  in  requisition, 
and  banicades  erected  at  every  defensible  point.  With  these,  he 
thought,  he  should  be  able  to  hold  the  town  tillthe  arrival  of  the  troops 
of  the  viceroy  from  Naples. 


^' 


256  DARK    SCENKS   OF    HISTORY. 

to  point  all  the  cannon  which  could  be  obtained  upon  the 
town.  The  pillage  of  the  place  was  to  be  given  up  to  the  con- 
spirators, and  the  town  itself  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  who,  as 
soon  as  he  heard  that  the  attempt  was  successful,  was  to  send 
forward  twenty-five  or  thirty  galleys  filled  with  armed  men,  f 
which  were  to  follow  the  galleons  at  a  considerable  distance,  ^ 
waiting  for  the  signal. 

Shortly  after  these  conversations,  Montcassin  ieft  Venice  for 
a  time  ;  and  during  his  absence  the  existence  of  a  plot,  with 
some  of  the  particulars,  was  comimunicated  to  Nicholas  Donate 
by  a  letter  written  in  Italian,  spelled  in  the  French  manner. 
In  the  middle  of  the  month  of  April  Montcassin  returned,  and 
took  up  his  abode  at  an  inn  called  the  Trumpet,  where  an- 
other officer  lodged,  named  Balthazar  Juven.  Montcassin  im- 
mediately determined  to  gain  his  brother  officer  to  the  con- 
spiracy ;  and,  after  some  hesitation  and  various  precautions  to 
insure  his  secrecy,  he  took  him  to  the  house  of  Jacques  Pierre, 
where  they  found  assembled  Langlade,  Renault,  two  brothers 
(Charles  and  John  Boleo,  otherwise  Desbouleaux),  a  soldier 
named  Colombe,  and  John  Berard,  of  the  garrison  of  Crema. 
Here  Jacques  Pierre,  Montcassin,  and  Juven,  going  apart  from 
the  others,  conversed  over  the  plot,  in  which  Juven  refused  to 
take  part,  unless  they  communicated  the  whole  to  him,  and 
gave  him  a  copy  of  their  plan  of  action.  This  being  accord- 
ingly done,  Juven  determined  to  reveal  the  whole,  and  applied 
to  a  nobleman,  named  Bollani,  to  obtain  an  audience  of  the 
Senate.  Pretending  to  have  some  business  to  transact  with 
that  body  in  regard  to  his  company,  he  persuaded  Montcassin 
to  accompany  him  to  the  palace.  As  they  entered  the  grand 
hall,  Montcassin,  apparently  alarmed,  asked  his  companion 
where  they  were  going. 

"  I  am  going,"  replied  Juven,  "  to  ask  permission  of  the 
doge  to  set  fire  to  the  arsenal  and  the  mint,  and  to  give  up 
Crema  to  the  Spaniards." 

He,  however,  comforted  his  pale  and  trembling  companion, 
by  telling  him  he  would  inform  the  doge  that  he,  Montcassin, 
came  also  to  reveal  what  he  knew ;  and  ho  then  left  him  in' 
the  outer  hall,  watched  by  Mark  Bollani  and  several  other  per- 
sons. Juven  then  went  before  the  doge*  and  made  his  depo- 
sition in  form,  after  which  he  went  back  to  Crema.  Mont- 
cassin eagerly  applied  to  make  his  deposition  also  before  the 
inquisitors  of  state,  which  was  permitted ;  and  now  an  ira- 

*  It  wonld  appear  that  this  was  in  the  time  of  the  short  reign  of  a 
month  of  Nicolas  Donata 


THE   CONSPIRACY    OF   CUEVA.  25." 

mense  mass  of  infonnation  was  obtained,  especially  regardinj* 
the  participation  of  the  Spanish  embassador  in  the  plot,  and 
of  the  proceedings  of  one  of  liis  friends  and  confidants,  named 
Robert  Buccilardo,  of  Bergamo,  in  whose  hands  were  all  the 
threads  of  the  conspiracy,  and  who  conducted  the  correspond- 
ence with  the  Duke  of  Ossuna.  It  appeared  that  this  Buc- 
cilardo and  Jacques  Pierre  had  been  very  active  together  in 
stirring  up  a  mutiny  among  the  Dutch  troops  ;  and  Montcas- 
sin  ofiered  to  put  Buccilardo  and  all  his  papers  into  the  hands 
of  the  government,  by  bringing  him  to  a  house  where  the  con- 
spirators met ;  but  Buccilardo  was  upon  his  guard,  and  made 
his  escape.  Montcassin,  however,  succeeded  in  concealing  an 
agent  of  the  government  in  a  place  where  he  could  hear  and 
see  the  whole  proceedings  of  the  conspirators  at  one  of  their 
meetings.  The  report  then  gives  a  summary  of  what  had 
been  discovered  from  the  various  declarations,  in  the  following 
words : 

"A  project,  which  was  believed  to  be  of  easy  execution,  was 
concerted  at  Naples,  between  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  and  others, 
for  the  purpose  of  surprising  this  capital,  with  two  thousand 
picked  men,  brought  hither  in  four  galleons.  These  galleons 
were  to  be  apparently  charged  with  bulky  merchandise,  and 
to  have  letters  for  various  merchants.  Under  the  coverings 
placed  to  keep  the  merchandise  from  the  air,  the  soldiers  wero 
to  keep  themselves  concealed  during  the  day.  At  night  they 
were  to  issue  Torth,  under  the  port  of  Malamocco,  take  pos- 
session of  some  boats,  and  land,  a  part  in  the  Square  of  St. 
Mark,  part  at  the  arsenal,  five  hundred  on  the  canal  of  Mu- 
rano,  part  upon  the  bridges,  part  before  the  houses  on  the 
grand  canal ;  five  hundred  were  to  be  posted  on  the  bridge 
of  the  Rialto,  and  barricade  themselves  there,  taking  posses- 
sion of  the  neighboring  houses.  Of  the  five  hundred  remain- 
ing, three  hundred  were  to  continue  drawn  up  in  the  square, 
and  two  hundred  to  render  themselves  masters  of  the  palace 
and  the  public  offices.  They  said  they  had  two  or  three  hund- 
red determmed  men,  whose  business  it  was  to  seize  upon  the 
principal  personages  of  the  town.  In  the  mean  time  the 
twenty  galleys  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  were  to  be  held  near 
enough  to  give  aid. 

"The  enterprise  was  to  have  been  attempted  in  the  month 
of  March,  or  in  October  or  November.  The  duke  had  prom- 
ised liberty  and  a  pecuniary  reward  to  the  galley  slaves  if  they 
brought  the  ships  hither ;  and,  as  they  had  expressed  some 
doubts  as  to  there  being  depth  enough  of  water,  it  was  arranged 


258  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

that  each  galley  should  be  accompanied  by  four  barges  and 
four  arrnfed  boats,  which  could  place  themselves  on  the  canals 
in  such  a  manner  that  one  part  of  the  town  could  not  send 
aid  to  the  other.  They  were  to  seize  upon  all  the  barges  and 
gondolas,  break  down  the  bridges,  and  forbid  the  inhabitants 
to  appear  out  of  their  houses,  assuring  them  that  there  was 
no  design  against  either  their  persons  or  their  property,  and 
that  the  King  of  Spain  took  them  under  his  protection,  would 
maintain  their  ancient  liberty,  and  deliver  them  from  oppres- 
sion. The  same  promises  were  to  be  made  to  the  nobility, 
assuring  them  that  the  king  would  only  confer  offices  of  state 
upon  the  patricians,  and  that  those  offices  would  be  rendered 
more  lucrative.  This  being  done,  the  conspirators  proposed  to 
ring  the  bell  which  convokes  the  great  council  and  the  Senate, 
in  order  that  all  the  members  of  those  assemblies  should  come 
and  swear  fidelity  to  the  king.  The  poor  nobles  were  to  be 
gained  by  fine  words,  and  by  holding  out  to  them  hopes  of 
aggrandizement.  As  to  the  principal  patricians,  such  as  the 
doge,  the  procurators,  the  counselors,  and  the  senators,  it  was 
intended  to  anrest  them.  Barges  had  been  prepared  at  Na- 
ples with  which  they  could  pass  through  all  the  waters  of 
Venice,  according  to  the  advice  of  that  Dominic,  who,  they 
say,  was  formerly  in  prison  at  Barletta,  a  man  of  determina- 
tion, at  present  pilot  to  one  of  the  principal  ships  of  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna.  The  fleet  and  the  duke  himself  in  person  were  to 
seize  upon  the  different  forts." 

The  report  goes  on  to  say,  that  all  these  projects  were  de- 
vised at  Naples  in  the  month  of  January  last.  The  words 
which  follow  are  of  great  importance  to  a  right  understanding 
of  the  case.  "  This  is  proved,"  says  the  report,  "  by  the  letters 
of  a  Burgundian,  named  Laurent  Pola,  one  of  the  emissaries 
sent  for  this  purpose,  who,  on  the  5th  and  10th  of  January, 
wrote  letters  addressed  to  a  Monsieur  Given,*  and  found  upon 
a  certain  Charles  de  Boleo  (Desbouleaux).  He  uses  fictitious 
names  and  forms  agreed  upon  ;  but  before  his  death  (this 
must  iiiean  tlie  death  of  Desbouleaux),  he  confessed  that  by 
the  name  of  Peter  he  understood  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  to  be 
meant,  and  that  Captain  Briardo  and  Jacques  Pierre,  having 
revealed  this  impious  plot  at  the  moment  it  was  about  to  break 
out — Robert,  in  his  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  of  the  13th 
of  March,  deplored  the  loss  of  an  opportunity  .t     (This  letter, 

*  I*robably  J  oven. 

t  There  seems  to  be  a  coDBiderablo  part  of  this  sentence,  or  more  than 
one  sentence  omitted. 


THE    CONSPIRACY   OF   OUEVA.  959 

with  another  from  the  embassador,  has  been  found  in  a  box 
of  the  brothers  Boleo  (Desbouleaux),  as  we  have  already  said 
in  another  report.)  He  expresses  his  regret  that  they  had 
not  profited  by  the  time  during  which  Laurent  was  dispatch- 
ed to  Naples." 

The  report  then  goes  on  to  mention  sotne  other  transactions, 
by  which  the  wild  designs  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  against  va- 
rious parts  of  the  Venetian  territories  had  been  discovered 
some  time  before,  and  which  show  that,  notwithstanding  the 
existence  of  peace  between  Spain  and  Venice,  the  Viceroy  of 
Naples  and  the  Venetian  government  were  still  carrying  on 
active  warfare  against  each  other,  he  capturing  their  ships 
and  carrying  them  to  Naples,  and  they  treating  his  officers  as 
pirates,  and  putting  them  to  death  when  taken,  inasmuch  as 
his  conduct  was  disavowed  by  his  government.  An  account 
is  then  added  of  the  conspiracy  of  Crema,  much  in  the  same 
terms  as  those  employed  before,  only  that  the  names  of  John 
Fournier  and  John  Berard  are  given  as  those  of  the  principal 
conspirators.  The  report  adds,  that  all  the  guilty  parties, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  had  been  put  to  death,  that  Montcas- 
sin  had  been  sent  to  Candia  with  a  pension  from  the  govern- 
ment, and  that  Balthazar  Juven,  with  his  wife  and  four 
Frenchmen,  had  been  set  at  liberty. 

Such  is  the  account  of  this  conspiracy,  as  given  by  the  Ve- 
netian government  to  one  of  its  diplomatic  agents,  about  five 
months  after  the  event  to  which  it  refers.  There  does  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  any  thing  the  least  improbable  in  the  state- 
ment, unless  it  be  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  should  entertain 
BO  rash  a  project,  and  trust  its  execution  to  the  hands  of  such 
persons.  But  it  must  be  remarked,  that  the  Viceroy  of  Na- 
ples by  some  means  established  lor  himself  such  a  character 
lor  daring  and  ill-digested  designs,  that  even  rasher  and  more 
extensive  projects  have  been  very  generally  attributed  to  him, 
to  be  carried  out  by  means  still  less  sufficient  for  the  end. 
Again,  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  if  the  Venetian  statement 
is  true,  De  la  Cueva,  who  was  on  the  spot,  was  in  a  position 
to  direct  and  govern  the  inferior  persons  employed,  and,  there- 
fore, the  scheme  was  not  so  rash,  or  so  unlikely  to  be  success- 
ful, as  it  at  first  appears. 

Had  the  plain  statement  of  the  Venetian  government  been 
generally  published  at  the  time,  or  before  St.  Real  had  em- 
bellished the  conspiracy  with  a  number  of  false  facts,  and 
given  it  an  air  of  romance,  I  do  not  beheve  any  doubts  would 
now  exist  as  to  the  reahty  of  the  plot,  although  some  circum- 


280  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

stances  have  been  since  discovered  which  we  can  not  easily 
account  for,  and  upon  which  the  Count  Daru  has  raised  a 
hypothesis  perfectly  imsustainable. 

Before  examining  that  hypothesis,  how^ever,  I  will  endeavor 
to  show  in  what  points  the  statement  of  the  Venetian  govern- 
ment is  supported  by  those  cotemporaries  who  labored  the 
most  diligently  to  prove  there  was  no  conspiracy  at  all. 

The  first  who  expresses  a  doubt  of  the  existence  of  a  con- 
spiracy is  Monsieur  Broussin,  who  acted  as  charge  d'affaires 
during  the  French  embassador's  absence.  He  says,  "  Many 
people  believe  that  there  is  no  truth  in  this  affair,  and  look 
upon  the  execution  of  the  alleged  enterprise  as  impossible." 
But  what  does  he  report  to  his  government,  not  as  a  state- 
ment made  to  him  by  the  Venetian  officers,  but  upon  his  own 
authority  ?  "  This  conspiracy  has  got  such  hold  of  their 
brains,  that,  from  that  day,  the  Council  of  Ten  (who  take 
cognizance  of  the  most  important  affairs  of  the  republic)  and 
the  three  inquisitors  of  state  have  worked  at  it  continually, 
and,  having  sent  for  the  register  of  the  names  of  strangers 
lodging  in  this  town,  have  verified  the  flight  of  more  than 
eight  hundred  since  the  day  when  these  miserable  men  were 
taken,  which  serves  as  a  great  proof  of  some  design  against 
this  town.  Lately,  also,  Maradan,  general  of  the  Austrians, 
has  come  down  upon  the  frontier  of  the  states  of  these  lords, 
with  more  than  three  thousand  men,  at  a  time  when,  on  ac- 
count of  the  expectation  of  the  conclusion  of  the  dissensions 
regarding  the  Uscoques,  he  ought  rather  to  have  marched 
away."* 

The  next  person  who  throws  doubt  upon  the  story  of  the 
conspiracy  is  Monsieur  Bruslart,  the  French  embassador  him- 
self, who,  from  the  moment  of  his  return,  about  three  weeks 
after  the  first  executions,  labors  hard  to  prove  that  there  was 
no  conspiracy  at  all.  Apparently  not  knowing  the  contents 
of  his  brother's  dispatches  during  his  absence,  he  boldly  denies 
that  a  single  man  had  fled  from  Venice  ;  but,  with  regard  to 
his  reasons  for  doubting  the  existence  of  a  conspiracy,  and  es- 
pecially for  believing  the  innocence  of  Jacques  Pierre,  I  shall 
have  to  make  some  observations  hereafter,  and  will  confine 
myself  here  to  what  he  says  confirmatory  of  the  views  taken 
by  the  Venetians.  In  a  letter  of  the  3d  of  July,  1618,  he 
states  that  the  brothers  Desbouleaux  had  been  seized,  with 

•  I  have  given  a  bold  and  almost  literal  translation  of  these  passages, 
lert  I  ■houldbe  accused  of  corrupting  the  text,  as  othem  have  not  scru- 
pled to  dn. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   OUEVA.  261 

a  letter  of  recommendation  from  the  Spanish  embassador  to 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna.  He  also  states,  in  the  same  letter,  that 
two  Frenchmen,  Monteassin  and  La  Combe  (probably  La  Co- 
lombo), whom  he  calls  vagabonds,  had  accused  the  brothers 
Desbouleaux,  and  caused  them  to  be  seized,  with  the  letter 
of  the  Spanish  embassador  upon  them.  Then  follows  a  very 
obscure  passage,  in  which  it  is  difficult  to  understand  of  whom 
he  is  speaking.  I  understand  him,  however,  to  mean  the 
brothers  Desbouleaux,  when  he  says,  "  I  am  of  opinion  that, 
upon  the  retreat  of  these  two,  who  were  going  back  to  Naples, 
the  Venetians  entertained  a  suspicion  that  all  the  others  of 
their  cabal  would  do  the  same  :  joined  to  that,  that  sometimes 
among  themselves  they  discoursed  inconsiderately  upon  this 
enterprise,  trusting  that  they  had  the  liberty  of  speaking  upon 
it,  on  account  of  having  discovered  it." 

In  the  same  and  several  other  letters,  he  speaks  more  than 
once  of  Montcassin's  revelations  to  the  Venetian  government, 
and  of  his  intention  of  coming  to  see  him,  the  French  embas- 
sador. He  promises  to  draw  as  much  information  from  him 
as  he  can,  and  to  reproach  him  bitterly  for  his  conduct ;  but 
Monteassin,  it  appears,  did  not  think  fit  to  come,  and  was 
sent  to  Candia,  which  Monsieur  Broussin  looks  upon  as  a 
proof  that  the  Venetians  knew  he  could  not  sustain  his  charges. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Council  of  Ten  declare  that  they  sent 
him  to  Candia  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  dangers  which  menaced 
him ;  and,  indeed,  the  threats  of  Monsieur  Broussin  toward 
Monteassin  show  that  this  apprehension  was  not  altogether 
groundless.  From  these  letters,  however,  it  appears  that  the 
account  of  the  Venetian  government  is  confirmed  even  by  the 
French  in  two  points,  the  revelations  of  Monteassin,  and  the 
flight  of  a  great  number  of  strangers  from  Venice.  If  the 
letter  attributed  to  Jacques  Pierre,  and  addressed  to  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna,  is  authentic,  no  doubt  can  exist  of  the  conspiracy  ; 
and  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  great  coincidence  may  be  found 
between  several  parts  of  that  letter  and  the  report  of  the 
Council  of  Ten  in  regard  to  the  dispatch  of  Laurent  Nola  to 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna.  Monsieur  Bruslart,  indeed,  never  men- 
tions that  letter,  nor  touches  upon  the  Burgundian,  Laurent 
Nola,  at  all ;  but  he  warmly  defends  the  character  of  Jacques 
Pierre,  and  insinuates,  more  than  once,  that  he  was  put  to 
death  in  order  to  give  satisfaction  to  the  Sublime  Porte, 
against  which  power  all  the  early  efforts  of  his  arms  had  been 
directed,  and  against  which  he  was  preparing  new  expedi- 
tions in  concert  with  the  Duke  of  Nevers.     It  may  be  that 


2««  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

these  schemes  of  the  corsair  were  chimerical ;  it  may  be  that 
France  and  Savoy  only  gave  them  a  temporary  and  unsub- 
stantial encouragement  for  purposes  of  their  own ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is  that  Jacques  Pierre  and  the  Duke  of  Nevers  both 
entertained  them,  and  that  the  written  plans  which  he  sent 
to  the  duke  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Venetian  government, 
when  the  papers  of  Renault  d'Arnaud  were  seized  and  exam- 
ined. Monsieur  Bruslart  was  not  alone  in  his  opinion  that 
Jacques  Pierre  was  sacrificed  to  the  vengeance  of  the  Porte, 
for  there  are  many  letters  and  papers  extant  in  which  the 
same  idea  is  hazarded.  But  let  us  examine,  first,  what  are 
the  reasons  the  French  embassador  publicly  gave  lor  doubt- 
ing the  existence  of  a  conspiracy  at  all,  and  next,  upon  what 
evidence  he  exculpated  Jacques  Pierre  from  all  share  in  it,  if 
it  did  exist. 

In  a  public  audience  of  the  doge  which  took  place  shortly 
before  the  19th  of  July,  1618,  Monsieur  Bruslart  received  a 
notification  from  the  Venetian  prince  that  the  French  govern- 
ment had  made  use  of  language,  in  regard  to  the  conspiracy, 
little  in  accordance  with  the  friendly  relations  between  the 
two  countries,  evidently  imputing  to  him  unfavorable  reports 
to  the  ministry  of  the  French  monarch. 

To  this  reproach.  Monsieur  Bruslart  assures  his  government, 
he  replied  in  a  long,  elaborate,  and  very  artful  speech,  placing 
the  doubts  of  the  conspiracy,  which  he  himself  entertained,  in 
the  mouth  of  other  French  gentlemen,  who  had  been  in  Ven- 
ice at  the  time,  which  he  himself  had  not  been.  He  pointed 
out,  among  other  things,  that  these  French  gentlemen  had 
spread  abroad,  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  had  no  other  forces 
in  the  Venetian  Gulf  than  fifteen  galleons  in  a  very  bad  state 
at  Brindisi,*  while  the  Venetian  armament  kept  the  seas ; 
that  the  two  Desbouleaux,  when  they  were  taken,  were  re- 
tiring to  Naples,  discontented  with  Jacques  Pierre  and  Re- 
nault, and  having  a  letter  of  recommendation  from  the  Span- 
ish embassador ;  that  they  were  accused  by  a  person  named 
Montcassin,  who  went  with  the  younger  of  the  two  to  the 
said  embassador's  to  receive  that  letter ;  and  that  it  was  not 
at  all  likely  that,  when  they  were  on  such  bad  terms  with 
each  other,  they  should  unite  to  execute  so  damnable  a  con- 
spiracy ;  that  Renault  was  going  to  France  with  a  French 
passport,  and  actually  on  the  point  of  setting  out  with  letters 
and   memoirs  written  to  the  Duke  of  Nevers  by  Jacques 

•  Let  it  be  remembered  that  Brindisi  is  not  in  th©  Venetian  Gulf  at 
all,  althotigh  the  French  emba<«ador  places  it  there. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUE  VA.  268 

Pierre,  who  had  paid  him  two  hundred  ducats  for  his  journey, 
Jacques  Pierre  beinjr  at  the  same  time  alone,  with  none  but 
his  domestic  servants,  in  the  galley  of  the  admiral,  and  Lan- 
glade at  Zara,  with  one  soldier,  and  a  young  boy  who  served 
him  ;  and  that  there  was  no  probability  of  their  being  able, 
while  thus  separated,  to  execute  in  ibur  days  so  important  and 
difficult  an  enterprise.  He  moreover  stated,  that  these  (ficti- 
tious) French  gentlemen  had  remarked  that  it  was  a  marvel- 
ous tiling  the  conduct  and  execution  of  a  design  formed  by  so 
powerful  a  hand  as  was  said  should  be  intrusted  to  such  fee- 
ble instruments  and  so  small  a  number  of  men  ;  and  that  it 
was  very  strange,  as  the  conspiracy  originated  entirely  with 
Spaniards,  who  had  so  many  partisans  in  Italy,  no  one  should 
have  taken  any  part  therein  but  these  five  miserable  French- 
men and  two  or  three  of  their  servants  ;  that  no  forces  which 
could  create  alarm  had  appeared  either  within  or  without  the 
town,  and  that  no  arms,  offensive  or  defensive,  had  been 
found ;  that  the  manner  in  which  Jacques  Pierre  and  Lan- 
glade had  been  put  to  death,  without  giving  them  time  to 
speak,  caused  doubts,  as  it  was  natural  to  suppose  that' the 
Venetian  government  would  have  sought  to  draw  i'rom  them 
every  sort  of  information  ;*  that  it  was  worthy  of  admiration, 
above  all  things,  that  in  so  great  and  detestable  a  conspiracy, 
in  which  many  persons  must  have  participated,  not  one  wit- 
ness had  been  found,  not  one  letter  which  could  convict  the 
culprits,  and  that  there  was  no  proof  but  the  alleged  confes- 
sions, of  which  there  could  have  been  none  in  the  case  of 
Jacques  Pierre  and  Langlade,  who  had  died  without  speaking, 
while  the  others  having  been  strangled  in  prison,  every  one 
was  at  liberty  to  doubt  their  confession. 

Monsieur  Bruslart  adds,  that  to  these  observations  the  doge 
made  no  reply,  except  that  the  Venetian  government,  being 
moderate  in  its  judgments,  would  not  have  performed  so  ex- 
emplary an  act  of  justice  without  good  cause. 

It  is  very  probable  that  the  doge  was  himself  ignorant  of 
the  particulars  of  the  conspiracy  ;  for  this  audience  took  place 
before  the  19th  of  July,  and  the  first  detailed  account  of  the 
conspiracy,  given  to  the  government  itself  by  the  Council  of 
Ten,  who  managed  the  whole  proceedings  in  secret,  is  dated 
the  17th  of  October.  Even  had  the  doge  been  aware  of  the 
facts,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  entered  into  a  per- 
sonal discussion  of  them  with  the  French  embassador.     But 

*  I  suppress  a  disquisition,  which  he  says  be  inflicted  upon  the  dog^e, 
ia  regard  to  the  nature  of  justice. 


964  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

every  one  who  will  take  the  pains  to  compare  the  objections 
of  Monsieur  de  Bruslart  with  the  report  of  the  Council  of 
Ten  will  find  that  the  greater  part  of  the  former  lose  all 
their  force  by  the  explanations  in  the  latter,  and  that  many 
of  his  assertions  are  directly  contradicted  either  by  that  docu- 
ment or  by  his  Own  brother's  letter.  It  appears  by  the  report 
of  the  council,  that  the  execution  of  the  enterprise  was  to  be 
put  off  till  September  or  October,  and  therefore  the  separation 
^f  the  conspirators,  for  the  time,  proved  nothing.  It  is  shown, 
also,  that  the  number  of  persons  engaged  was  very  great,  and 
it  is  asserted  that  they  were  directed  by  De  la  Cueva.  More 
than  three  hundred  were  put  to  death,  nearly  eight  hundred 
fled,  according  to  M.  Broussin ;  and  of  the  Dutch  troops, 
nearly  three  thousand  in  number  were  engaged.  Therefore, 
Monsieur  Bruslart's  objection,  founded  on  the  smallness  of  the 
number,  falls  to  the  ground.  All  the  leaders  but  Renault 
were  officers  of  some  rank  in  the  Venetian  service,  and  they 
were,  according  to  the  report,  headed  by  Bedomar,  so  that 
they  did  not  deserve  to  be  called  "  feeble  instruments,"  If 
an  3\.ustrian  army  of  three  thousand  men  advanced  to  the 
frontier,  as  M.  Broussin  declares,  surely  his  brother  had  no 
right  to  say  that  no  forces  had  appeared  to  cause  alarm  ;  and 
in  regard  to  the  objection  that  no  Spaniards  had  taken  part 
in  the  conspiracy,  it  was  very  unlikely  that  they  should  be 
suffered  to  do  so,  as  the  appearance  of  many  of  that  nation  in 
Venice  must  necessarily  have  excited  suspicion  in  the  Vene- 
tian government. 

As  to  the  other  points,  the  Council  of  Ten  declare  that 
they  had  both  witnesses  and  documents  to  prove  the  facts,  be- 
sides the  confessions,  and,  as  to  the  secrecy  of  the  proceedings, 
they  only  followed  a  course  which  was  usual  in  Venice. 

It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  Monsiewr  Bruslart  did  not 
at  all  shake  the  credibility  of  the  statement  of  the  Council  of 
Ten  as  to  the  existence  of  a  conspiracy.  With  regard  to  the 
guilt  of  Jacques  Pierre,  the  case  is  very  different,  and  prcBcnts 
some  points  which  seem  incapable  of  explanation  upon  any 
evidence  that  is  before  us.  Monsieur  Bruslart's  testimony  is 
as  follows  :  "  The  first  act  of  Jacques  Pierre,  when  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  service  of  this  republic,  was  to  discover  to  it  a 
project  formed  by  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  to  surprise  this  town 
with  armed  barges,  taking  possession  of  the  places  most  easy 
to  retain,  and  to  second  and  support  this  effort  by  his  army, 
which  he  designed  to  render  powerful  and  bring  into  these 
quarters      TTpon  this  he  (Jacques  Pierre)  was  heard  for  three 


THE    CONSPIRACY    OF    CUEVA.  265 

or  four  hours,  and  gave  his  advice  to  these  lords  as  to  the 
remedies  which  they  might  employ  against  such  an  attempt. 
He  told  it  to  myself  and  many  other  persons,  and  mentioned 
it  to  any  one  who  would  listen ;  so  that  there  is  very  little 
likehhood  that  he  sought  to  attempt  an  enterprise  which  he 
had  been  the  first  to  disclose."     (Letter,  6th  of  June,  1618.) 

This  statement  is  certainly  powerful  evidence  in  favor  of 
Jacques  Pierre  ;  but  it  is  also,  though  Monsieur  Bruslart  does 
not  appear  to  have  seen  it,  irrefragable  evidence  that  the 
Venetians  had  reason  to  think  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  had  laid 
the  very  plot  of  which  they  accused  him,  without  any  reason 
to  believe  that  he  had  abandoned  it.  Moreover,  the  minutes 
of  the  revelations  given  by  Jacques  Pierre  to  the  Venetian 
government,  and  sent  by  Monsieur  Bruslart  himself  to  France 
(if  they  are  genuine,  of  which  I  entertain  some  doubts),  show 
that  the  Council  of  Ten  had  distinct  information  that  thp 
Spanish  embassador  took  ^n  active  part  in  the  plot  for  the 
capture  or  destruction  of  their  city.  Monsieur  Bruslart,  there- 
fore, with  those  papers  actually  under  his  eyes,  and  with  no 
assignable  reason  for  supposing  that  the  plans  of  the  conspira- 
tors were  changed,  had  no  right  to  deny  the  existence  of  a 
conspiracy,  although  he  had  every  right  to  protest  against  the 
execution  of  Jacques  Pierre. 

Further  on,  in  the  same  letter,  he  says,  "  I  will  say  more. 
So  far  was  Jacques  Pierre  from  entertaining  such  a  thought, 
that  he  dreamed  of  nothing  but  serving  the  king  and  M.  dc 
Nevers  in  their  designs  upon  the  Levant,  and  had  charged 
this  Renault  with  very  ample  memoirs  upon  the  subject,  and 
with  letters  which  he  wrote  to  his  majesty  and  to  my  said 
Lord  of  Nevers,  which  he  came  to  my  house  to  read  to  me, 
and  sent  the  said  Renault  express  to  carry  them  to  France, 
and  had  paid  him  two  hundred  ducats  for  his  journey.  I 
had  also  given  him  a  passport.  So  that  some  people  suppose 
that  the  said  memoirs,  having  been  found  in  the  hands  of  the 
said  Renault,  may  have  forwarded  the  death  of  the  said 
Jacques  Pierre  rather  than  any  conspiracy." 

In  several  other  letters.  Monsieur  Bruslart  continues  to  as- 
sert the  innocence  of  Jacques  Pierre,  and  mentions  repeated- 
ly that  the  corsair  had  warned  the  Venetian  government  fully 
of  the  designs  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  ;  and  in  his  letter  of  the 
19th  of  July,  1618,  he  declares  that  Jacques  Pierre,  only  two 
days  .before  his  departure  with  the  fleet,  had  given  in  a  new 
memoir  for  the  security  of  the  town,  and  had  drawn  up,  at 
the  desire  of  the  Senate,  a  plan  of  the  order  of  battle  which 

M 


266  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

the  Venetian  fleet  should  adopt.  In  the  same  letter,  the  em- 
bassador inclosed  the  rough  copies  of  two  formal  informations, 
laid  by  Jacques  Pierre  before  the  inquisitors,  which  were 
found,  he  says,  in  a  coffer  belonging  to  Jacques  Pierre.  They 
are  in  the  handwriting  of  old  Renault ;  but  this  Monsieur 
Broussin  explains  by  saying  (in  a  letter  of  the  3d  of  July) 
that,  as  Jacques  Pierre  was  not  able  to  write  in  Italian,  they 
had  been  taken  down  by  Renault.  The  documents  to  which 
he  refers  are  curious,  but  are  too  long  for  insertion  here.  They 
show,  however  (if  they  are  genuine),  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna 
had  a  secret  agent  at  Venice,  called  Captain  Alexander  (sup- 
ix)sed  to  be  Alexander  Spinosa,  who  was  put  to  death  by  the 
Venetians  shortly  after  the  receipt  of  Jacques  Pierre's  informa- 
tion) ;  that  this  Alexander  was  in  communication  with  the 
Spanish  embassador  ;  that  he  entered  into  conversation  with 
Jacques  Pierre,  upon  the  designs  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  took 
him  to  the  house  of  the  Spanish  embassador,  and  was  present 
with  him  during  a  conference  conducted  with  the  greatest  se- 
crecy and  care,  in  the  course  of  which  the  embassador  urged 
the  corsair  very  strongly  to  go  back  to  Naples,  in  order  to  ar- 
range the  plans  against  Venice  more  completely  and  fully 
with  the  viceroy.  These  papers  are  not  signed  by  Jacques 
Pierre  ;  no  part  of  them  is  in  his  handwriting  ;  but  it  is  at- 
tested on  the  back  by  the  hand  of  the  French  embassador, 
that  they  are  copies  of  the  information  given  by  Jacques 
Pierre  to  the  Venetian  government ;  and  the  dates  show  that 
this  was  immediately  after  his  arrival  in  Venice. 

It  results  from  the  consideration  of  these  papers,  that  Jacques 
Pierre  really  quitted  the  service  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  on 
some  disgust,  after  having  been  informed  of  his  designs  against 
the  Venetians ;  that  he  then  entered  into  the  service  of  the 
republic,  and  revealed  to  his  new  masters  the  schemes  devised 
against  them ;  that  he  nevertheless  kept  up  communications 
with  the  Spanish  embassador,  and  with  the  agents  of  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna  ;  and  that,  from  time  to  time,  he  revealed  at  least  a 
part  of  what  he  knew  or  heard,  to  the  Venetian  government. 

These  papers  may  have  been  forged  by  Renault ;  but  it  is 
clear,  that  the  French  emba.ssador  bcheved  them  to  contain 
the  substance  of  what  Jacques  Pierre  had  revealed ;  and  the 
report  of  the  Council  of  Ten  itself,  dated  17th  October,  1616, 
admitg,  in  unqualified  terms,  that  Jacques  Pierre  had  reveal- 
ed '*  the  impious  plot  at  the  moment  it  was  about  to  break 
forth."* 

*  Monsieur  Oaru  makes  a  very  uunecessary  comment  upon  this  port 


THE   CONSPIRACY    OF   CUBVA.  267 

This  leaves  no  doubt  whatever  that  he  did  communicate 
to  the  power  he  served  the  plots  which  were  entertained 
against  it.  The  letters  of  the  French  embassador,  the  min- 
utes of  the  information  given  by  Jacques  Pierre,  and  the  re- 
port of  the  Council  of  Ten,  taken  together,  prove  that  there 
was  a  conspiracy  against  the  state  of  Venice,  projected  by  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna,  and  probably  communicated  to  De  la  Cueva, 
marquis  of  Bedomar ;  and  from  the  statement  of  the  French 
embassador,  in  his  letter  of  the  19th  of  July,  1618,  that 
Jacques  Pierre  had  given  fresh  information  to  the  govern- 
ment two  days  before  he  sailed  with  the  fleet,  there  is  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  conspiracy,  far  from  being  abandoned,  was 
in  full  activity  till  a  very  short  time  previous  to  the  execu- 
tions. 

The  strange  and  apparently  inexplicable  facts  are  these ; 
that,  notwithstanding  the  full  revelation  made  by  him,  Jacques 
Pierre  was  enveloped  with  the  other  conspirators  in  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  very  crime  that  he  denounced  ;  that  the  man- 
ner of  his  death  was  contrary  to  every  form  of  justice  ;  that 
he  was  neither  examined,  informed  of  the  crime  with  which 
he  was  charged,  nor  suffered  to  make  any  defense ;  and  that 
the  Venetian  government,  even  after  having  put  him  to  death 
for  taking  part  in  the  conspiracy,  acknowledged  that  he  had 
revealed  it.  Nor  is  it  less  inexplicable  that  the  French  em- 
bassador himself  should  be  aware  of  the  existence  gf  such  a 
conspiracy  in  August,  1617,  know  all  the  details  of  it  from 
Jacques  Pierre,  be  informed  that  he  had  denounced  it  to  the 
Venetian  government,  and  yet  never  communicate  the  im- 
portant fact  to  the  French  ministry  till  the  following  year, 
and  then  should  couple  that  very  communication,  accompanied 
by  documentary  evidence  of  the  conspiracy,  with  a  denial  that 
any  conspiracy  existed. 

This  part  of  the  case  is  altogether  exceedingly  mysterious ; 
and  various  explanations  have  been  boldly  put  forth,  or  covert- 
ly insinuated.  Monsieur  Bruslart  implies,  in  his  letters  to  the 
French  govermnent,  that  the  real  cause  of  the  execution  of 
Jacques  Pierre  was  a  desire,  on  the  part  of  the  republic,  to 
oblige  the  court  of  Constantinople,  by  the  destruction  of  a  man 
who  had  performed  signal  exploits  against  the  Turks,  and 

of  the  report,  apparently  to  insinuate  a  want  of  good  faith  in  the  state- 
ments of  the  Council  of  Ten.  He  points  out  that  Jacques  Piene's  rev- 
elations were  made  from  the  moment  he  arrived  in  Venice ;  but  Mon- 
sieur Bruslart  shows  that  he  gave  fresh  information  just  before  he  sail- 
ed with  the  fleet.     It  is  to  this,  probably,  the  Council  of  Ton  allude. 


268  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

who  was  actually  laying  plans  with  powerful  personages  for 
much  greater  enterprises  in  the  Levant. 

Had  he  not  coupled  this  explanation  with  the  denial  of  a 
conspiracy,  which  is  as  clearly  proved  as  any  other  fact  in  his- 
tory ;  had  he  said  that  the  Venetian  government  took  advant- 
age of  the  discovery  of  the  conspiracy,  to  satisfy  the  sultan 
by  the  sacrifice  of  Jacques  Pierre,  I  might  have  been  inclmed 
to  beheve  that  this  was  a  probable  solution  of  the  mystery. 
Opposed  to  this  view,  however,  is  the  letter  of  Jacques  Pierre 
to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  which  I  have  mentioned  more  than 
once,  and  which  has  so  many  internal  marks  of  authenticity, 
that  I  can  not  reject  it  altogether  from  consideration.  If  this 
letter  was  really  written  by  Jacques  Pierre,  it  shows  that  he 
was  playing  a  double  game  with  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  and  the 
Venetian  government,  and  undertaking  to  carry  into  execu- 
tion a  scheme  for  the  surprise  of  Venice,  at  the  very  time 
when  he  was  revealing  the  whole  of  that  scheme  to  the  Vene- 
tian authorities.  In  this  case,  he  might  either  be  endeavor- 
ing to  lull  the  Venetians  into  false  confidence,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  carrying  out  the  designs  of  the  duke,  or  he  might  be 
laying  a  trap  for  the  duke  himself,  in  order  to  deliver  his  ships 
into  the  hands  of  the  Venetians.  Another  explanation  may  be 
suggested,  though  I  do  so  without  confidence  in  its  accuracy, 
and  it  is  at  best  but  an  hypothesis.  It  is  this.  We  have  seen 
that,  according  to  all  accounts,  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  threw  the 
wife  of  Jacques  Pierre  into  prison  on  his  departure,  and  kept 
her  as  a  sort  of  hostage.  Jacques  Pierre,  in  the  minutes  of  his 
revelations  to  the  council,  shows  liis  extreme  anxiety  to  bring 
his  wife  to  Venice.  May  we  not  suppose  that  he  kept  up  the 
appearance  of  acting  for  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  for  the  purpose 
of  inducing  him  to  set  his  wife  at  liberty,  and  that,  in  so  doing, 
he  wrote  letters,  which,  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Vene- 
tian government,  excited  the  strongest  suspicions  in  a  jealous, 
vindictive,  and  merciless  body.  I  put  this  forth  merely  as  an 
inquiry,  for  the  reader  to  take  it  at  no  more  than  it  is  worth. 

The  explanation  of  Count  Daru  I  shall  now  proceed  to 
consider  apart,  as  his  high  character  and  general  accuracy 
command  respect,  although  his  views  are  untenable,  and  many 
of  his  statements  inaccurate,  on  a  subject  where  he  has  sacri- 
ficed every  thing  to  the  maintenance  of  a  favorite  hypothesis. 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  269 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    CONSPIRACY    OP    CUEVA. 

I  NOW  turn  to  the  hypothesis  of  the  Count  Daru,  raised  for 
the  purpose  of  explaining  all  the  obscure  points  in  the  Vene- 
tian conspiracy  of  1618.  It  is  constructed  with  care,  and 
with  great  skill,  supported  by  long  and  intricate  reasoning, 
and  by  many  documents  and  authorities  ;  but  I  must  premise 
that  a  forced  sense  is  often  put  upon  the  words  quoted  ;  that 
the  authorities,  which  are  rejected  when  they  make  against 
the  hypothesis  of  Monsieur  Daru,  are  received,  even  without 
corroboration,  when  they  favor  his  views ;  and  that  he  not 
unfrequently  reasons  in  a  circle,  and,  by  slight  alterations  of 
dates,  misplaces  cause  and  effect. 

The  hypothesis  of  the  Count  Daru  is,  that  the  Duke  of  Os- 
Buna,  having  determined  to  usurp  the  crown  of  Naples,  some 
time  before  the  month  of  August,  1617,  had  entered  into  ne- 
gotiations with  the  Venetian  government,  as  well  as  with 
France  and  Savoy,  for  the  purpose  of  insuring  support  against 
the  power  of  Spain  ;  and  that  there  was  a  tacit  understand- 
ing between  him  and  the  Senate  of  Venice,  that  he  was  to  be 
allowed  to  engage  the  Dutch  troops,  which  they  had  taken 
into  their  service  during  the  war,  but  which  they  no  longer 
wanted.  This  was,  however,  to  be  done  covertly,  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna  appearing  to  seduce  the  Dutch  soldiers  from  the 
service  of  the  republic  by  the  means  of  secret  agents.  Mon- 
sieur Daru  imagines  that  one  of  these  agents  was  Jacques 
Pierre  ;  that  the  secret  agent  was  deceived  by  his  principal ; 
and  that  Pierre  was  sent  to  Venice  with  the  notion  that  he 
was  to  organize  a  conspiracy  against  the  republic,  and  draw 
out  a  plan  for  surprising  the  city.  In  order  to  cheat  him  into 
the  belief  that  this  was  the  real  object,  he  was  directed  to 
cheat  the  world,  by  affecting  to  escape  from  Naples  by  night ; 
and  his  wife  was  imprisoned,  to  give  an  air  of  reality  to  the 
transaction.  Jacques  Pierre,  however,  on  his  arrival  at 
Venice,  either  more  honest  or  more  rascally,  as  the  case  may 
be,  than  his  master  supposed,  revealed  the  plot  against  the 
city  to  the  Venetian  government,  in  August,  1617.  The 
Venetians,  however,  forewarned,  according  to  Monsieur  Daru, 


270  DARK   SC'ETJES   OF   HISTORY. 

of  the  duke's  real  designs,  took  no  notice  of  Jacques  Pierre's 
information,  except  by  apprehending  and  putting  to  death 
Alexander  Spinosa,  another  secret  agent  of  the  Duke  of  Os- 
suna,  whom  Monsieur  Daru  supposes  to  have  been  destroyed 
by  the  Venetian  government  "  to  augment  the  confidence  of 
Jacques  Pierre,  and  prove  to  him  that  they  did  not  neglect 
his  inforination  II" 

The  part  which  Bedomar  took  in  the  affair  is  explained 
by  Monsieur  Daru,  by  the  supposition  that  Ossuna,  wishing 
to  deceive  him  as  to  his  intentions  upon  the  crown  of  Naples, 
directed  Jacques  Pierre  to  confer  with  him  in  regard  to  the 
pretended  plot  against  Venice,  which  the  known  "indiscretions 
of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  and  the  hatred  he  affected  to  manifest 
against  the  Venetians,"  rendered  credible.  The  embassador, 
without  any  real  share  in  the  conspiracy,  rather  favored  it 
than  otherwise,  when  communicated  to  him  by  Jacques  Pierre, 
and  left  all  the  rest  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna. 

In  the  succeeding  ten  months  very  little  was  done  in  Ven- 
ice, acc43rding  to  Monsieur  Daru,  except  in  carrying  on  the 
arrangements  for  the  transfer  of  the  Dutch  troops.  The  Vene- 
tians took  no  further  notice  of  the  informations  of  Jacques 
Pierre  ;  the  Spanish  embassador  left  things  as  they  were  ;  and 
Jacques  Pierre  received  no  communications  from  the  Duke  of 
Ossuna,  or,  at  least,  no  satisfactory  answer  to  the  letters  which 
he  sent  to  the  duke,  pressing  him  to  carry  out  the  designs  ar- 
ranged, although  they  had  been  already  revealed  to  the  Vene- 
tian government.  In  the  mean  time,  however,  Monsieur  Daru 
thinks  that  the  duke  carried  on  a  sham  war  with  the  Vene- 
tians, to  conceal  their  good  undergtanding,  and  eagerly  press- 
ed forward  negotiations  with  France,  which  power  remained 
irresolute,  and  with  the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  actually  did 
Bend  to  him,  Monsieur  Daru  says,  twelve  ships,  which  the 
Spanish  fleet  attempted,  unsuccessfully,  to  prevent  from  pass- 
ing the  Straits  of  Gibraltar.  At  length,  however,  in  the  early 
part  of  1618,  all  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the  Duke  of 
Ossuna  came  to  an  end.  His  designs  of  revolt  and  usurpation 
were  revealed  to  the  Spanish  government;  France  would  give 
no  aid ;  Savoy  was  supposed  to  be  treacherous ;  and  the  Vene- 
tians, seeing  that  the  conspiracy  of  the  duke  against  his  oAyn 
government  was  both  discovered  and  impracticable,  resolved 
"  to  efface  all  traces  of  their  connivance,"  in  order  not  to  give 
oflense  to  the  Spanish  crown.  For  this  purpose,  Monsieur 
Daru  would  have  it,  they  determined  upon  the  terrible  act 
they  committed.     "  They  could  not  tell  precisely,"  says  Mon- 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  271 

sieur  Daru,  "  up  to  what  point  each  of  the  agents  was  ini- 
tiated into  the  secret.  The  surest  way  was  to  cause  them 
all  to  disappear  at  once,  immediately,  and  without  exception, 
and  that  before  the  court  of  Spain  had  displayed  any  resent- 
ment against  the  Duke  of  Ossuna."  For  this  sole  reason 
more  than  three  hundred  persons  were  put  to  death,  accord- 
ing to  Monsieur  Daru. 

Can  any  thing  be  more  wild,  improbable,  and  absurd  than 
this  whole  story  ?  Yet  such  is  the  hypothesis  of  the  Count 
Daru,  stripped  of  the  embroidery  with  which  he  decorates  it. 
Nevertheless,  however  wild  arid  improbable  a  tale  may  be, 
we  may  yet  be  compelled  to  believe  it,  if  supported  by  suffi- 
cient historical  evidence.  But  such  is  not  the  case  with  this 
statement.  So  far  from  it,  indeed,  that  Monsieur  Daru  is 
obliged  to  displace  or  to  strain  every  ascertained  fact  of  histo- 
ry, in  order  to  give  even  a  semblance  of  probability  to  his  ac- 
count. 

In  order  to  show  this  fact,  I  will  examine  the  authorities 
on  which  he  relies,  and  the  facts  on  which  his  whole  state- 
ments are  based. 

His  principal  authorities  (besides  the  correspondence  and 
the  diplomatic  pieces  of  which  I  have  spoken,  and  which  he 
does  not  seem  to  me  always  to  interpret  fairly)  are,  first,  Gre- 
gorio  Leti,  a  native  of  Milan,  a  very  confused  and  inaccurate 
writer  ;  secondly,  Baptista  Nani,  a  Venetian  of  high  rank  and 
authority ;  thirdly,  the  well-known  Giannoni ;  fourthly,  the 
too  well-known  Vittorio  Siri ;  and,  fifthly,  Louis  Videl,  one 
of  the  secretaries  of  the  famous  constable  De  Lesdiguiercs. 
The  other  authorities,  which  hp  cites  occasionally,  are  of  little 
importance  to  the  general  question.  He  himself  shows  that 
Sandi  copied  St.  Real ;  and  it  is  apparent  that  the  Genoese, 
Peter  Capriata,  was  ignorant  of  the  public  documents  already 
mentioned. 

In  regard  to  these  authorities,  Monsieur  Daru  himself  points 
out,  in  a  number  of  different  places,  where  the  accounts  of 
Leti  do  not  suit  his  purposes,  the  very  great  inaccuracy  of 
that  author.  The  same  may  be  said  of  Siri,  whose  state-' 
ments  can  never  be  relied  upon  except  when  corroborated  by 
other  less  suspicious  evidence. 

Nani  is  more  worthy  of  credit.  He  had  every  opportunity 
of  ascertaining  the  facts  ;  he  had  filled  various  important  diplo- 
matic offices,  and  might  have  all  the  existing  documents  un- 
der his  eyes.  Giannoni,  a  writer  long  posterior,  contributes 
nothing  but  the  weight  of  his  name  ;  but  Louis  Videl  had  the 


272  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

means  of  knowing  personaUy  all  the  negotiations  between  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna  and  the  court  of  France,  which  took  place 
principally  through  the  mediation  of  Lesdiguieres.  Of  the 
authorities,  therefore,  on  which  Monsieur  Daru  rehes,  none 
are  of  any  weight  except  Nani  and  Louis  Videl ;  but,  on  ex- 
amining the  statements  of  all  the  historians  whom  he  cites,  it 
will  be  found  that  every  one  of  thera,  with  more  or  less  dis- 
tinctness and  detail,  attribute  to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  a  design 
of  usurping  the  crown  of  Naples  and  Sicily,  and  imply  that 
he  negotiated  with  France  and  Savoy.  Some  of  them  add 
Venice  and  Holland  to  the  number  of  those  he  sought  for  al- 
lies ;  and  Monsieur  Dam's  argument  is,  that  the  Duke  of 
Ossuna  could  not  carry  on  a  plot  against  Venice  and  at  the 
same  time  negotiate  with  her  for  assistance. 

Admitting  the  intended  usurpation  of  the  duke,  merely  for 
the  sake  of  argument,  it  is  clear  that  the  value  of  Monsieur 
Daru's  hypothesis  will  entirely  depend  upon  the  dates.  Now 
every  one  of  his  authorities,  without  exception,  places  the  dis- 
covery of  the  conspiracy  against  Venice  in  May,  1618,  and  his 
first  designs  of  usurpation  in  1 6 1 9 .  Even  Louis  Videl  himself, 
who  saw  and  knew  the  whole  course  of  the  negotiations  be- 
tween Ossuna  and  Lesdiguieres,  places  them  distinctly  in 
1619.  If,  then,  these  writers  are  accurate — if  Ossuna  did 
not  negotiate  for  assistance  in  rebellion  before  1619,  a  whole 
year  after  the  frightful  executions  in  Venice,  those  executions 
could  not  have  been  perpetrated  in  order  to  blot  out  all  trace 
of  those  negotiations,  and  the  whole  hjrpothesis  of  Monsieur 
Daru  falls  to  the  ground. 

To  get  over  the  difficulty,  Monsieur  Daru  supposes  that 
the  greater  number  of  the  historians  he  cites  mistakenly  place 
the  commencement  of  Ossuna's  negotiations,  and  his  first  de- 
sign of  usurpation,  at  the  time  when  they  became  pubUcly 
talked  of;  and  as  to  Louis  Videl,  who  knew  the  whole  busi- 
ness from  the  beginning,  he  argues  in  a  very  curious  manner. 
He  says  that  Videl,  in  placing  the  enterprise  of  the  Duke  of 
Ossuna  under  the  year  1619,  did  not  really  intend  to  give 
that  as  the  precise  date.  Monsieur  Daru  calls  Videl's  ac- 
count of  the  transactions  between  the  duke  and  Lesdiguieres 
"  a  digression  upon  the  Duke  of  Ossuna."  It  is  no  such 
thing ;  but  just  as  much  a  part  of  Lesdiguiere's  history  as 
any  other  part  of  the  work.  Monsieur  Daru  then  says,  that, 
even  if  Videl  intended  to  give  1619  as  the  real  date,  he  must 
be  in  error,  and  that  his  own  statements  show  it ;  but  he  can 
only  establish  that  fact  by  misinterpreting  all  the  other  state- 


THE   CONSPIRACY  OF  CUEVA.  273 

merits.  There  is  only  one,  however,  which  it  may  be  neces- 
sary here  to  notice,  as  it  is  the  only  one  which  has  any  pre- 
cise bearing  on  the  question.  I  will  give  Monsieur  Daru's 
own  words.  "  He  (Videl)  says  that  the  Prince  of  Piedmont, 
charged  to  protect  the  interests  of  the  viceroy  with  the  minis- 
ters, was  then  in  Paris  for  his  marriage ;  and  this  marriage 
was  negotiated  in  1618,  since  it  was  accomplished  on  the  10th 
of  February,  1619."  These  are  Monsieur  Daru's  own  words  ; 
and  those  very  words  are  sufficient  to  destroy  his  whole  hy- 
pothesis, even  if  his  interpretation  of  Videl' s  words  could  stand 
for  a  moment.  He  says  that  the  Prince  of  Piedmont  was  in 
Paris  for  his  marriage,  not  for  the  negotiations  which  preceded 
his  marriage  ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  death  of  more  than  three 
hundred  persons  in  May,  1618,  could  not  have  for  its  object 
the  concealment  of  transactions  which  took  place  in  Decem- 
ber, 1618,  or  January,  1619. 

Let  us  turn,  however,  from  mere  statements  to  ascertained 
facts,  always  bearing  in  mind  that  Jacques  Pierre  arrived  in 
Venice  early  in  August,  1617  ;  and  that,  according  to  Mon- 
sieur-Daru's  hypothesis,  the  understanding  between  the  Vene- 
tians and  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  was  at  that  time  complete. 
Now,  at  this  time,  the  war  between  Venice  and  the  archduke 
was  still  going  on,  and  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  was  one  of  the 
most  active  parties  against  the  Venetians.  Peace  was  not 
concluded  till  the  6th  of  September,  1617,  nearly  two  months 
after  Jacques  Pierre  quitted  Naples.  But  not  only  did  the 
Duke  of  Ossuna  carry  on  the  war  most  vehemently,  while 
.Venice  and  the  archduke  were  engaged  in  hostilities,  but, 
even  after  the  signature  of  the  treaty  of  peace,  he  continued 
that  war  on  his  own  account,  till  long  after  the  discovery  of 
the  conspiracy  and  the  death  of  Jacques  Pierre.  On  the  16th 
of  March,  1618,  the  Doge  Giovanni  Bembo  writes  to  one  of 
the  diplomatic  agents  of  the  republic,  that  there  can  be  no 
hope  of  peace  as  long  as  the  Duke  of  Ossuna  is  Viceroy  of  Na- 
ples. The  Doge  Priuli,  on  the  28th  of  July,  1618,  makes 
the  same  complaint,  and  shows  that  the  duke  was  continuing 
the  war.  Another  letter  from  the  same  to  the  resident  at 
Milan,  dated  the  1st  of  September,  1618,  shows  that  these 
hostilities  had  not  ceased,  but  were  as  furious  as  ever.  The 
report  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  on  the  17  th  of  October  in  the 
same  year,  shows  to  what  a  pitch  of  animosity  the  Venetians 
and  the  duke  had  arrived.  He  takes  their  vessels  ;  they  take 
his  ;  and,  as  his  acts  were  not  avowed  by  his  government  after 
the  peace,  the  Venetians  treated  some  of  the  commanders  of 

M  2 


274  DARK  SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

his  ships  as  pirates,  put  them  to  the  torture,  to  extract  inform- 
ation from  them,  and  in  the  end  condemned  them  to  death. 
Even  on  the  13th  of  November,  161^,  six  months  after  the 
conspiracy,  open  war  was  going  on  between  the  duke  and  the 
Venetians,  and  an  engagement  had  taken  place  between  their 
fleets  in  the  Adriatic,  in  which  the  Neapohtans  had  been  de- 
feated, as  appears  by  a  letter  of  the  doge  of  that  date.  Mon- 
sieur Dam  might,  perhaps,  say  that  these  accounts  were  not 
real,  and  were  merely  spread  abroad  by  the  doge  and  the 
Council  to  cover  their  understanding  with  the  duke.  Unfor- 
tunately for  his  hypothesis,  however,  we  have  other  author- 
ities for  the  facts.  De  la  Cueva  himself,  after  he  had  retired 
from  Venice,  mentions  distinctly  the  engagement  between  the 
two  fleets  in  November,  1618  ;  and  although  he  tries  to  make 
it  appear  that  the  result  was  favorable  to  Ossuna,  he  shows 
that  several  galleys  had  been  taken  on  the  one  part  or  the 
other.  Were  his  testimony  not  sufficient,  we  have  that  of 
the  French  embassador,  who,  on  the  6th  of  June,  1618,  shows 
that  the  Venetians  had  attacked  the  Neapolitan  fleet  at  Brin- 
disi,  and  taken  some  ships,  and  that  the  sqUadron  of  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna  had  been  forced  to  quit  the  Adriatic. 

These  facts  are  perfectly  incompatible  wdth  the  supposition 
that,  from  the  middle  of  the  year  1617,  the  Duke  of  Ossuna 
had  a  perfect  understanding  with  the  Venetian  government, 
and  sent  Jacques  Pierre,  with  their  consent,  to  gain  the  Dutch 
troops  to  his  service  ;  for  not  for  one  single  moment,  from  that 
period  till  toward  the  end  of  the  year  1618,  was  there  a  ces- 
sation of  active  hostilities  between  the  duke  and  the  Venetians. 

Every  part  of  Monsieur  Daru's  hypothesis  breaks  down  un- 
der the  touch  of  examination.  In  speaking  of  the  Dutch 
troops,  he  more  than  once  says  that  the  Venetians  had  no 
longer  any  need  of  the  services  of  foreign  troops,  as  the  war 
was  at  an  end.  The  war  was  not  at  an  end  when  Jacques 
Pierre  set  out  from  Naples,  nor  when  he  arrived  in  Venice ; 
but,  even  if  the  treaty  had  been  signed  with  the  archduke,  it 
is  clearly  shown  that,  either  on  accomit  of  the  hostilities  with 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  or  from  a  doubt  of  the  good  faith  of 
Spain,  the  Venetians  continued  to  augment  their  forces  during 
the  whole  of  the  years  1617  and  1618,  and,  so  far  from  wish- 
ing to  get  rid  of  the  strangers  they  had  hired,  they  eagerly 
Bought  new  recruits.  On  the  6th  of  June,  1618,  Monsieur 
Bruslart  speaks  of  *'  their  great  armament,"  of  "  the  increase 
of  their  forces ;"  and  again,  on  the  24th  of  August,  he  shows 
that  they  ofiered  greater  advantages  than  ever  to  French  offi- 
cers in  their  service,  in  order  to  induce  them  to  remain,  not- 


THE   CONSPIRACY   OF   CUEVA.  275 

withstanding  the  efforts  of  Monsieur  Bruslart  to  persuade 
them  to  quit  the  armies  of  the  republic. 

Again,  in  regard  to  a  fleet  of  twelve  vessels,  sent  into  the 
Mediterranean  by  the  Prince  of  Orange,  Monsieur  Daru,  with- 
out the  slightest  authority  to  justify  such  a  supposition,  states 
that  these  vessels  were  hired  by  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  the  Ve- 
netians lending  their  name.  Now  what  is  the  real  history 
of  this  transaction  ?  Nani  tells  us  that  Christopher  Suriano, 
the  Venetian  resident  in  Holland,  engaged  twelve  vessels  for 
the  service  of  the  republic,  and  that  these  vessels  passed  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar  on  the  24th  of  June,  notwithstanding  the 
opposition  of  a  Spanish  fleet.  The  French  embassador,  in  his 
correspondence,  shows  that,  at  this  very  time,  the  Venetians 
were  greatly  increasing  their  naval  forces  in  the  Adriatic  ; 
and  the  Doge  Priuli,  in  writing  to  the  resident  at  Milan, 
states  distinctly  that  this  fleet  was  coming  into  the  service  of 
the  republic  ;  that  the  Spanish  fleet  attempted  to  prevent  it 
from  passing  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  ;  but  that,  after  a  battle 
of  six  hours,  the  Dutch  fleet  was  victorious,  and  forced  tlie  pas- 
sage. The  only  foundation  whatever  for  Monsieur  Daru's 
supposition  that  this  fleet  was  destined  for  the  use  of  the  Duke 
of  Ossuna  is  found  in  a  few  words  of  Louis  Videl,  who  states 
that  the  Prince  of  Orange  had  promised  to  send  a  Dutch 
squadron  to  the  assistance  of  the  Duke  of  Ossuna ;  but  then 
he  places  the  fact  even  of  the  promise  in  1619,  and  not  1618. 
He  also  distinctly  places  it  long  after  the  discovery  of  the  con- 
spiracy of  May,  1618,  of  which  Videl  gives  a  short  but  dis- 
tinct account,  attributing  the  whole  design  of  that  conspiracy 
to  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  and  implying  directly  that  the  attempt 
upon  Venice  was  to  be  made  with  the  consent  and  assistance 
of  the  Spanish  government.  His  testimony  is  infinitely  valu- 
able on  this  point,  as,  from  the  confidential  situation  he  held 
about  the  person  of  Lesdiguieres,  he  had  every  opportunity  of 
obtaining  correct  information ;  and  he  states  positively  that 
the  stipulated  restoration  of  Vercelli  was  delayed  by  the  Span- 
iards till  they  saw  the  result  of  the  enterprise  against  Venice. 
One  of  the  principal  reasons  which  determined  them  to  re- 
store Vercelli,  he  says,  '*  was  the  bad  success  of  a  design  which 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  viceroy  of  Naples,  had  for  some  time  had 
against  Venice,  by  means  of  a  certain  Jacques  Pierre,  and 
which  the  Spaniards  thought  infallible." 

This  is  the  most  direct  cotemporary  testimony  which  we 
have,  by  a  person  not  interested,  but  who  had  the  very  best- 
means  of  obtaining  information  ;  for  it  must  be  remembered 
that  Lesdiguieres  took  an  active  part  in  the  affairs  of  the 


276  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

Duke  of  Savoy,  to  whom  Vercelli  was  to  be  restored,  and  that 
Videl,  his  secretary,  possessed  his  full  confidence. 

As  a  specimen  of  how  lightly  Monsieur  Daru  leaps  over  all 
obstacles  in  the  way  of  his  hj^othesis,  I  will  translate  his  com- 
ment upon  this  passage  of  Videl.  He  says,  "  One  is,  doubt- 
less, surprised  to  read  this  passage  in  the  same  historian,  who, 
some  pages  after,  reports  the  conspiracy  of  the  Duke  of  Os- 
suna  against  Naples.  It  is  impossible  that  the  same  man 
should  have  conducted  these  two  conspiracies  at  the  same  time, 
one  in  favor  of  his  government,  to  procure  for  it  the  acquisition 
*of  a  state ;  the  other  against  the  same  government,  in  order  to 
snatch  from  it  a  kingdom.  The  writer  has  not  taken  any 
trouble  to  reconcile  these  two  facts." 

Certainly  not,  because  such  are  not  the  facts  which  Videl 
states  at  all.  The  facts,  as  stated  by  Videl,  do  not  require  to 
be  reconciled,  for  they  are  not  opposed  to  each  other.  He  does 
not  state,  as  Monsieur  Daru  says,  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna 
conducted  these  two  conspiracies  at  the  same  time,  but  quite 
the  contrary.  He  states,  that  in  1617  and  1618  Ossuna  pro- 
jected a  conspiracy  against  Venice,  and  that  in  1619  he  con- 
spired against  Spain. 

From  all  these  documents  and  authorities,  it  would  seem  to 
me  perfectly  clear  that  the  Duke  of  Ossuna,  whether  he  after- 
ward conspired  against  his  own  country  or  not,  did,  in  the 
course  of  1617  and  1618,  form  a  design  for  surprising  Venice 
by  the  means  of  a  great  number  of  adventurous  soldiers,  whom 
he  contrived  to  introduce  into  the  service  of  the  republic. 

The  only  points  which  appear  obscure  are  the  career  and 
fate  of  Jacques  Pierre.  We  know  not  whether  his  flight  from 
Naples  was  simulated  ;  and  we  know  not  why  he  was  put  to 
death,  after  having  revealed  the  project  of  the  duke.  We 
know  not  whether,  from  the  first,  he  was  an  agent  of  Ossuna, 
and  betrayed  him ;  or  whether,  having  really  quitted  him  in 
disgust  and  revealed  his  projects,  he  was  induced  by  other  per- 
sons engaged  in  the  conspiracy,  or  by  the  desire  of  obtaining 
the  liberation  of  his  wife,  to  renew  his  communications  with 
the  viceroy.  All  we  know  is,  that,  after  having  fully  revealed 
the  machinations  against  Venice,  he  was  put  to  death  by  the 
Venetian  authorities.  Th«  only  ray  of  light  that  we  obtain, 
as  to  the  motives  of  his  execution  or  murder,  is  aflbrded  by  a 
report  of  the  Council  of  Ten  (16th  of  September,*1618),  and  it 
is  very  faint.  "  Moreover,"  says  the  report,  "  the  designs  of 
the  Duke  of  Ossuna  against  our  fleet  were  upon  the  point  of 
being  executed.  It  is  quite  j)ossible  that  those  wicked  men 
might  have  caused  considerable  damage  to  our  fleet." 


WALLENSTBIN.  277 


WALLENSTEIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  is  an  old  castle  on  a  hill,  and  a  village  at  the  foot 
of  the  rise,  with  a  church  starting  up  in  the  highest  part  of 
the  hamlet,  till  the  top  of  the  tower  reaches  almost  to  the 
base  of  the  castle.  It  does  not  seem  a  thriving  place  ;  there 
is  no  look  of  prosperity  about  it ;  the  houses,  with  two  or  three 
exceptions,  are  small  and  mean ;  there  are  no  gardens,  orch- 
ards, or  vineyards  :  it  is  a  poor  place.  Nor  is  the  castle  much 
superior  to  the  village.  Of  no  great  extent,  not  in  very  good 
repair,  without  much  strength  against  an  enemy,  without 
much  comfort  for  an  inhabitant,  it  seems  but  the  fortified 
house  of  some  poor  noble  of  the  second  class.  Yet  it  was 
very  lately  the  dwelling  of  John  Waldstein  of  Hermanic,  the 
son  of  illustrious  ancestors,  and  the  father  of  one  destined  to 
be  more  illustrious  still. 

In  the  court  of  the  castle  several  boys  are  playing ;  the 
three  sons  of  the  late  lord  of  the  castle,  two  boys  from  the  best 
houses  in  the  village,  two  others  from  that  building  pitched 
upon  the  craggy  point  some  three  miles  off.  The  eldest  seems 
about  seventeen,  the  youngest  eleven. 

On  a  bench  before  the  old  stone  porch  of  the  hall,  and  look- 
ing upon  the  sports  of  the  children,  is  an  elderly  man,  of  mild 
and  dignified  .appearance,  and  a  lady,  seemingly  in  decHning 
health.  There  are  marks  of  mourning  about  her  dress,  and 
she  calls  her  companion  "brother." 

The  boys  are  playing  merrily  enough,  though  somewhat 
rudely,  dividing  themselves  into  little  bands,  and  each  acting 
the  soldier,  attacking  and  defending  fortresses  raised  of  loose 
stones,  and  giving  each  other,  from  time  to  time,  hard  blows, 
at  which  the  mother  only  smiles.  There  is  one  youth  among 
them,  however,  the  youngest  of  the  party,  but  very  nearly  as 
tall  as  any  of  the  rest,  handsome  and  well  formed,  but  with 
a  somewhat  wild  and  flashing  eye,  and  a  broad  and  haughty 
brow.  He  is  the  leader  of  one  of  the  little  bands  ;  and  hark, 
how  imperiously  he  speaks  to  his  young  followers. 


278  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

"  Albrecht,"  exclaimed  his  uncle,  as  he  heard  him  insisting 
upon  his  commands  being  obeyed,  "  be  more  moderate  in  your 
language,  sir.  You  speak  as  if  you  were  a  prince,  and  not  a 
poor  gentleman's  son." 

The  boy  turned  his  haughty  head  for  an  instant,  and  an- 
swered, "  If  I  am  not  a  prince  now,  I  may  be  one  some  day ;" 
and  he  went  on  with  his  game. 

Some  years  passed,  and  the  young  Albrecht  Waldstein, 
now  an  orphan,  and  the  youngest  of  three  brothers,  is  being 
educated  by  his  uncle  Slavata,  of  Chulm ;  but  he  stays  not 
there  very  long.  He  is  perverse,  obstinate,  disobedient.  They 
can  do  nothing  with  him ;  and  he  is  transferred  to  the  care 
of  another  uncle,  who  has  embraced  the  Roman  Catholic  re- 
ligion, and  who  sends  the  stubborn  boy  to  the  great  instructors 
of  youth  in  that  day,  the  Jesuits.  At  their  college  at  Olmutz, 
a  great  change  comes  over  the  young  Waldstein.  He  becomes 
docile,  obedient,  aflectionate.  His  especial  tutor,  Father  Pach- 
ta,  obtains  his  love  by  indulgence  and  kindness,  presses  him 
little  to  severer  studies,  humors  the  peculiarities  of  his  char- 
acter, and  leads  him,  rather  than  drives  hira  on,  upon  the 
road  to  science.  At  the  same  time,  however,  he  instills  into 
his  mind  the  doctrines  of  the  Romish  Church ;  and  Albrecht 
of  Waldstein  renounces  the  religion  of  his  fathers. 

There  are  three  young  men,  set  off  from  Olmutz  to  travel 
together  ;  and  there  could  not  be  three  more  diiferent  in  char- 
acter, pursuits,  or  position.  The  first  in  rank  and  wealth  is 
the  young  Lord  Liek  of  Riesenstein,  lord  of  the  Giant's 
Stone,  one  of  whom  history  has  left  little  but  a  name.  The 
other  is  Albrecht  of  Waldstein,  whose  life  is  an  epic.  The 
third  was  Peter  Verdungo,  the  friend  and  companion  of  Kep- 
lar,  famous  for  his  scientific  pursuits,  and  for  mingling  science 
with  the  wildest  dreams  of  astrology  :  we  know  not  if  he  went 
as  tutor  of  the  other  two  ;  but  so  it  has  been  supposed.  And 
now  they  hasten  forward,  with  all  the  eagerness  of  youth,  to 
see,  to  learn,  to  enjoy  that  world  which  foiTns  the  bright,  de- 
ceitful dream  of  boyhood  ;  that  world  so  gay  and  glittering  at 
a  distance,  so  hard,  so  cold,  so  dull  when  we  are  near.  On- 
ward they  go,  through  Gennany,  France,  Holland,  England, 
Spain,  Italy ;  each  acting  according  to  his  character  at  the 
time,  and  forming  his  character  for  the  future.  With  ex- 
penses almost  beyond  his  limited  means,  young  Waldstein  con- 
forms to  all  the  customs  of  each  country  through  which  he 
travels ;  but  he  studies,  too,  and  studies  hard — men,  manners, 
tongues,  arts,  commerce,  cities ;  nothing  passes  before  him  un- 


WALLEN8TEIN.  279 

noticed ;  and  from  every  thing  something  is  acquired.  But 
there  are  two  strains  of  thought  on  which  his  mind  rests  more 
willingly  than  on  others — the  visionary  doctrines  of  judicial 
astrology  ;  that  madness  of  man's  inherent  thirst  for  a  knowl- 
edge of  futurity — and  the  science  of  war.  The  latter  formed 
the  real  occupation  of  his  intellect,  the  former  the  pursuit  of 
his  imagination. 

In  Italy,  and  especially  at  Padua,  then  one  of  the  most  fa- 
mous universities  in  Europe,  Waldstein  stayed  long  ;  and  now 
we  find  the  three  companions  separated.  Each  betook  him- 
self his  separate  way  in  life ;  and  Waldstein,  with  small 
means,  hut  a  powerful  mind  and  much  knowledge,  entered  on 
the  career  which  he  had  chosen  for  himself,  and  joined  the 
imperial  army,  then  warring  against  the  Turks,  it  would  ap- 
pear, as  a  volunteer. 

Then,  as  now,  genius  without  wealth  was  a  sealed  fountain. 
No  one  discovered  the  waters ;  and  for  years  Waldstein  re- 
mained without  promotion  or  command.  At  length  a  com- 
pany of  infantry  was  granted  him  ;  and  here  he  might  have 
dragged  out  his  life  in  obscurity,  but  that  a  handsome  person 
opened  to  him  a  brighter  career.  The  first  step  in  it  might 
be  a  painful,  and  was,  perhaps,  not  a  very  honest  one ;  but  it 
seemed  the  only  means  of  success  ;  and  he  took  it. 

Lo,  the  young,  the  handsome,  the  energetic  Waldstein 
stands  at  the  altar  with  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  his  moth- 
er, the  rich  widow  Nikessin,  of  Landeck.  There  were  many 
seeking  her  hand.  It  had  even  been  promised  to  one ;  but 
Waldstein  was  strongly  supported  by  influential  friends ;  his 
person  was  a  still  stronger  recommendation ;  and  she  gave 
him  her  hand  and  her  riches. 

Still  there  was  little  chance  of  his  obtaining  great  favor  at 
court,  or  a  high  command  in  the  army  ;  for  he  had  displeased 
the  Archduke  Matthias,  one  of  whose  chamberlains  he  had 
been  for  a  short  time,  and  who  ultimately  became  emperor. 
We  know  not,  indeed,  whether  he  sought  either  for  some 
time  ;  and  a  portion  of  the  next  two  years  was  consumed  in 
a  long  and  severe  sickness,  brought  on  by  the  folly  of  his  vdfe, 
in  giving  him  a  love  potion,  with  a  view  of  gaining  or  of  re- 
taining the  affection  of  a  young  man  for  an  old  woman.  Her 
own  death,  not  long  after,  freed  him  from  such  dangers  ;  and 
now  Wallenstein  starts  into  active  life,  but  not  till  after  a 
long  period  of  retirement,  nor  until  he  had  reached  his  thirty- 
third  year. 

From  the  Lady  of  Landeck  he  had  inherited  large  estates 


280  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

in  Moravia ;  and  he  seems,  for  nearly  ten  years,  to  have  de- 
voted himself  to  the  cultivation  and  improvement  of  his  lands. 
During  this  period  had  raged  furiously  what  is  called  the 
Fraternal  War,  hetween  the  Archduke  Matthias  and  the 
weak  Emperor  Rudolph.  Neither  the  service  of  a  fool  nor 
that  of  a  rogue  was  very  desirable ;  and  Wallenstein  took  no 
part  with  either.  We  are  told  that  he  was  eagerly  solicited 
by  both  parties ;  but  of  this  I  find  no  distinct  proof ;  and  if 
it  was  so,  he  must  have  been  sought  for  his  wealth ;  for  as 
yet  he  had  gained  no  military  renown.  At  length,  however, 
broke  out  the  war  of  Friuli,  between  Ferdinand  of  Gratz, 
archduke  of  Camiola  and  Styria,  and  the  Venetian  repubhc ; 
and  Wallenstein  issued  forth  from  Moravia  at  the  head  of 
two  hundred  well-appointed  cavalry,  all  raised  upon  his  own 
estates,  to  give  aid  to  the  Austrian  prince. 

The  fortress  of  Gradisca  was  at  that  time  blockaded  by  the 
Venetians,  who  were  slowly  carrying  on  the  siege  of  the  place. 
The  great  danger  of  the  garrison  lay  in  the  want  of  provisions, 
and  the  first  exploit  of  Wallenstein  was  to  throw  a  large  sup- 
ply into  the  place.  The  war  had  little  result,  and  terminated 
soon  after  by  a  treaty  of  peace  ;  but  Wallenstein's  military 
fame  was  established,  and  his  services  were  acknowledged  by 
Ferdinand.  The  soldiers  sang  praises  of  his  liberality  ;  the 
officers  and  the  noblemen  of  the  army  enjoyed  his  table  and 
benefited  by  his  purse ;  and  now,  received  with  honor  at  Vien- 
na, Wallenstein  found  himself  appointed  one  of  the  chamber- 
lains to  the  emperor,  and  obtained  the  command  of  the  militia 
of  Moravia.  This  appointment  gave  him  much  power ;  and 
his  marriage,  which  speedily  followed,  with  Isabella  Catharine, 
daughter  of  Count  Harrach,  a  minister  of  the  emperor,  both 
added  to  his  fortune  and  procured  him  great  influence  at  the 
imperial  court.  He  fixed  his  residence  at  Olmutz,  displaying 
the  splendor  and  profusion  of  a  prince  ;  but  events  were  now 
preparing  which  opened  for  him  a  career  of  prospefity  and  re- 
verse which  has  but  few  parallels  in  history. 

I  must  pause  upon  these  events,  though  it  will  be  but 
briefly.  The  kingdom  of  Bohemia,  peopled  principally  by  a 
Sclavonian  tribe,  had  resisted  for  many  years,  with  flery  vigor 
and  considerable  success,  both  civil  and  religious  tyraimy. 
Though  the  house  of  Austria,  after  the  year  1526,  claimed 
dominion  over  Bohemia,  and  though  the  Roman  Cathohc 
faith  was  tolerated  in  the  land,  still  the  forms  ol'  liberty  were 
maintained,  and  Protestantism  was  the  predominant  religion 
in  the  country.     The  crown  of  Bohemia  was  elective,  and,  on 


WALLENSTBIN  381 

the  accession  of  each  monarch,  the  forms  of  election  were  gone 
through.  The  people  sufiered  no  occasion  to  pass  without  ex- 
acting from  the  Austrian  princes  some  recognition  of  the  lib- 
erties and  privileges  of  Bohemia.  Rudolph  granted  a  charter, 
called  the  Letter  of  Majesty,  by  which  entire  freedom  of  re- 
hgion,  and  the  maintenance  of  all  rights,  was  granted.  Mat- 
thias, before  his  coronation,  was  required  to  swear  at  the  altar, 
with  his  hand  on  the  Bible,  that  he  would  maintain  the  privi- 
leges contained  in  Rudolph's  charter  ;  and  an  expression  of 
consent  from  the  people  was  demanded  before  the  crown  was 
put  upon  his  head.  After  Ferdinand  of  Gratz,  the  heir  of  his 
cousin  Rudolph,  had  been  elected  King  of  the  Romans,  Mat- 
thias sought  to  secure  for  him  the  crown  of  Bohemia  also,  and 
enlarged  his  promises  and  engagements  to  the  Bohemian  peo- 
ple. But  the  character  of  Ferdinand,  as  a  persecutor  of  the 
Protestants,  was  well  known ;  the  Bohemians  were  wary ;  and 
before  they  would  elect  him  as  the  successor  of  Matthias,  or 
suffer  him  to  receive  the  crown,  they  exacted  from  him  the  sig- 
nature of  a  charter,  by  which  he  pronounced  them  free  of  their 
allegiance  in  case  he  violated  any  of  the  privileges  secured  to 
them,  or  any  of  the  engagements  into  which  he  entered  at  his 
coronation.     This  done,  he  was  elected  and  crowned. 

The  object  of  the  emperor  and  the  archduke  was  now  at- 
tained, and  the  mask  was  thrown  off'.  Two  new  churches 
were  built  at  Bnmau  and  Klostergraben,  in  Bohemia,  by  the 
Protestants  of  the  district.  They  were  seized  by  the  Catholics : 
one  was  pulled  down,  and  one  was  shut  up  by  the  orders  of 
the  emperor. 

Matthias  was  represented,  in  Prague,  by  a  Council  of  State, 
and  to  the  lords  of  this  council  the  Protestants  sent  deputies, 
complaining  of  the  outrage.  The  deputies  were  thrown  into 
prison  by  the  monarch's  representatives,  and  the  Protestant 
nobility  now  laid  their  remonstrances  at  the  foot  of  the  throne. 
Shortly  after,  they  were  summoned  by  the  Council  of  State  to 
hear  the  emperor's  reply.  It  was  bold  and  tyrannical.  The 
monarch  avowed  the  act  of  which  the  Protestants  complain- 
ed, declared  that  the  states  of  Bohemia  had  abused  their  char- 
ter, and  asserted  that  the  deputies  had  rendered  themselves 
liable  to  punishment  as  rebels. 

The  indignation  excited  was  extreme  ;  the  people  were  as- 
sembled in  the  market-place,  and  the  charter  of  the  hberties  of 
Bohemia  was  read  to  them,  in  conjunction  with  the  imperial 
letter  just  received.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  populace 
were  prevented  from  storming  the  palace  of  the  Council  of 


282  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

State ;  and  when  a  deputation  of  noblemen  proceeded  to  in- 
form the  lords  of  the  council  that  no  decree  tending  to  endan- 
ger freedom  of  religion  in  Bohemia  could  be  received  after  the 
emperor's  signature  of  the  great  charter,  a  number  of  the  pop- 
ulace followed  them  to  the  hall.  A  confused  and  stormy 
scene  then  took  place,  in  the  midst  of  which  two  of  the  lords 
of  council  and  the  secretary  were  thrown  out  of  the  windows, 
and  miraculously  escaped  with  life. 

This  act  of  violence  could  not  be  passed  over,  as  the  states 
of  Bohemia  were  well  aware;  and  although  they  endeavored, 
by  general  professions  of  loyalty  and  apologies  for  the  tumult, 
to  turn  away  the  wrath  of  the  emperor,  they  neglected  no  pre- 
caution to  defend  themselves  against  his  vengeance.  A  Coun- 
cil of  Thirty  was  chosen  to  conduct  the  affairs  of  the  country; 
the  army  was  placed  under  the  command  of  Count  Thum, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  Protestant  noblemen ;  and  ne- 
gotiations were  opened  with  the  various  Protestant  states  of 
Germany,  with  the  view  of  obtaining  aid  and  assistance  in 
case  of  war.  At  the  same  time,  the  acts  of  the  Council  of 
Thirty  rendered  war  inevitable.  The  Archbishop  of  Prague, 
the  Abbot  of  Brunau,  and  a  number  of  the  Romish  clerg}% 
who  were  accused  of  having  taken  part  in  the  first  acts  of  ag- 
gression, were  expelled  the  kingdom,  as  well  as  the  whole  body 
of  Jesuits ;  and  the  determination  of  the  leaders  was  now  very 
clear,  to  render  Bohemia  a  purely  Protestant  state. 

Negotiations  succeeded  between  the  emperor  and  his  in- 
surgent subjects ;  but  the  Bohemians  refused  to  disarm  till 
certain  securities  were  afforded  for  their  safety  and  their  rights. 
Matthias,  who  had  lost  the  energies  of  his  youth  and  the  per- 
severance of  his  middle  age,  would  fain  have  yielded  something 
to  quiet  his  people  and  die  in  peace  ;  but  the  Archduke  Fer- 
dinand thought  that  he  could  profit  by  the  occasion  to  annul 
the  privileges  of  the  Bohemians,  and  he  urged  on  his  cousin  to 
unsheath  the  sword.  Two  imperial  oflicers,  named  Dampier 
and  Bucquoi,  marched  into  Bohemia  ;  but  their  appearance 
was  a  signal  for  the  union  of  all  parties  in  the  kingdom  to  de- 
fend their  rights.  Catholics  and  Protestants  laid  aside  their 
religious  disputes,  and  took  the  field  together ;  and  the  famous 
Count  Mansfeld,  engaged  in  the  cause  of  the  insurgents,  led  a 
body  of  veteran  free  companions  to  their  aid,  and  soon  obtain- 
ed possession  of  Pilsen,  the  only  town  of  importance  which 
maintained  its  allegiance  to  the  house  of  Austria.  Bucquoi 
and  Dampier  were  held  m  check,  the  Protestants  of  Moravia 
and  of  Upper  and  Lower  Austria  were  moving  in  favor  of 


w'aLLEN  STEIN.  283 

their  Bohemian  brethren,  and  Bethlem  Gabor,  the  restless 
and  adventurous  Prince  of  Transylvania,  prepared  to  march 
upon  Vienna  and  extinguish  the  Austrian  empire. 

What  had  been  the  conduct  of  Wallenstein  during  these 
events?  The  insurgents  had  striven  to  gain  him  to  their 
party.  Although  he  was  by  no  means  a  man  of  a  persecuting 
spirit,  he  vi^as  now  a  sincere  Roman  Catholic,  and  showed 
himself  a  faithful  servant  of  the  emperor.  No  considerations 
of  religious  toleration,  no  thought  of  the  liberties  of  his  coun- 
try, seemed  to  affect  him  in  the  least.  He  rejected  all  over- 
tures from  the  Bohemian  states ;  and  with  zeal,  diligence,  and 
skill  endeavored  to  preserve  Moravia  for  the  emperor.  But 
the  spirit  of  revolt  had  seized  upon  the  province,  and  the  pro- 
vincial states  resolved  to  send  deputies  to  raefet  those  of  Bo- 
hemia at  Brun.  Wallenstein  endeavored  to  intercept  them ; 
but  he  was  not  supported  by  the  militia,  over  whom  he  held 
a  nominal  command,  and  all  his  efix)rts  were  unsuccessful. 
The  united  states  of  Brun  declared  him  fallen  from  the  com- 
mand of  the  militia;  and  though  he  attempted  to  resist,  a  Bo- 
hemian force,  sent  to  attack  him  in  Olmutz,  compelled  him 
to  evacuate  a  town  where  he  could  calculate  upon  but  little 
support.  He  carried  off'  the  public  treasure  with  him,  how- 
ever, and  delivered  it  to  the  emperor,  who  allotted  a  part 
thereof  to  Wallenstein,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  regiment 
of  cuirassiers. 

The  Emperor  Matthias,  in  the  midst  of  these  dark  and 
ominous  events,  closed  his  long  and  turbulent  life,  on  the  20th 
of  March,  1618,  and  Ferdinand  of  Gratz  succeeded  to  all  the 
hereditary  dominions  of  Austria.  He  had  been  already  elected 
King  of  the  Romans ;  but  the  imperial  crown  was  yet  to  be 
attained ;  and  he  turned  his  eyes  anxiously  to  Frankfort,  where 
he  knew  his  claims  were  likely  to  be  opposed  in  the  Diet  by 
many  who  might  not  have  ventured  to  raise  their  voice  against 
him  had  the  strength  of  the  house  of  Austria  not  been  broken 
by  the  revolt  of  many  of  its  provinces.  He  dared  not  leave 
the  Danube  for  the  Rhine,  however,  while  the  aspect  of  every 
thing  around  him  was  so  menacing ;  and  in  the  mean  while 
Count  Thum,  with  a  Urge  army,  every  day  increasing  by  re- 
enforcements  from  Upper  Austria  itself,  marched  on  with 
rapid  steps  toward  Vienna,  while  Bethlem  Gabor,  with  his 
Transylvanian  hordes,  was  known  to  be  advancing  across 
Hungary. 


284  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WALLENSTEm. 

Every  thing  is  confusion  and  terror  in  Vienna.  The  city 
is  without  troops  for  its  defense  ;  the  inhabitants  are  cold  and 
indifferent ;  the  roar  of  artillery  is  heard  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Danube ;  the  bridge  is  in  possession  of  the  Bohemian 
forces.  No  resistance  can  be  made ;  and  a  busy  troop  of 
frightened  courtiers  in  one  of  the  halls  of  the  imperial  palace 
surround  a  man  of  the  middle  age,  and  clamorously  beseech 
him  to  fly  and  save  himself. 

"  If  I  fly,  all  is  lost,"  replied  Ferdinand.  **  I  will  stay,  what- 
ever be  the  consequence." 

He  spoke  with  a  tone  and  look  which  might  well  become 
a  mighty  monarch ;  but  it  failed  to  give  confidence  to  the 
terrified  people  around  him.  One  after  another  quitted  him, 
and  he  was  left  almost  alone.  The  balls  of  the  Bohemian 
guns  fell  into  the  courts  of  the  palace ;  and  twelve,  or,  as 
some  say,  sixteen  Austrian  noblemen  pushed  their  way  into 
the  very  chamber  where  their  monarch  stood,  and,  with  a 
written  paper  in  their  hands,  pressed  for  its  signature.  It 
contained  the  terms  demanded  by  the  Bohemians :  terms 
which  would  have  given  security  to  religion  and  to  liberty. 

Ferdinand  hesitated ;  and  one  of  the  lords,  forgetting  all 
restraint,  seized  him  by  a  button  of  his  coat,  exclaiming, 
*'  Nandel,*  wilt  thou  sign  ?" 

But  hark !  There  is  a  trumpet  in  the  palace  square,  the 
clang  of  horses'  feet,  the  sound  of  armor.  Have  the  Bohe- 
mians broken  in  ?  People  run  to  the  windows ;  and  lo,  a 
regiment  of  Dampier's  cuirassiers.  They  have  come  to  save 
their  sovereign  in  the  hour  of  need  ;  they  bring  news,  too,  that 
the  whole  army  is  close  upon  their  track  ;  the  Austrian  dep- 
uties retreat  in  haste  toward  the  camp  of  Count  Thurn  ;  and 
Ferdinand  has  time  at  least  for  thought. 

Still,  security  was  far  from  obtained.     Dampier's  whole 
army  was  not  sufficient  to  maintain  Vienna  against  the  ever- 
increasing  forces  of  Count  Thurn ;  but  tidings  reached  both  ^ 
the  court  and  the  camp  of  an  event  which  changed  the  face  * 
of  afTairs  in  a  moment ;  and  men's  tongues  were  busy  with 
•  A  rude  and  familiar  abbreviation  of  Ferdinand. 


WALLENSTEIN.  285 

the  name  of  Wallenstein.  Let  us  change  the  scene,  and  sec 
what  this  event  was. 

There  are  two  armies  in  presence  on  the  banks  of  the  Mol- 
dau,  as  it  flows  on  from  Budweis  toward  Prague.  The  small 
city  of  Moldau  Tein  is  within  sight  from  the  high  ground ; 
and  upon  a  httle  elevation  is  a  camp  surrounded  by  a  num- 
ber of  baggage  wagons,  which,  drawn  up  in  a  square,  form  a 
sort  of  redoubt  in  the  rear  of  a  force  of  some  five  or  six  thou- 
sand men.  These  are  the  army,  and  that  the  camp  of  the 
adventurous  Peter  Ernest,  of  Mansfeld  ;  and  that  larger  force, 
marching  on  to  attack  him,  is  the  Austrian  army  under  Buc- 
quoi.  After  a  brief  cannonade,  they  meet  hand  to  hand  ;  and 
fierce  and  resolute  is  the  resistance  of  Mansfeld  and  his  free 
companions-  But  they  feel  that  the  overwhelming  power  of 
the  enemy  can  not  be  resisted  in  the  open  field,  and  they  re- 
treat, in  good  order,  into  the  circle  of  their  wagons,  like  the 
ancient  Huns.  There  they  can  renew  the  fight  with  greater 
advantage  ;  and  charge  after  charge  of  the  Austrian  forces  is 
vigorously  repelled.  In  vain  the  camp  is  attacked  on  every 
side ;  the  Austrian  troops  are  getting  exhausted  under  the 
heat  of  a  bright  day  of  June,  and  that  day  is  drawing  toward 
a  close  without  the  victory  being  won. 

At  length,  however,  Wallenstein  and  his  cuirassiers  obtain 
leave  to  make  the  attack,  after  infantry  and  cavalry  have  both 
been  repulsed.  His  charge  is  fierce  ;  his  troopers  strong  and 
enthusiastic  ;  but  how,  unsupported  by  infantry,  can  he  break 
through  that  double  barricade,  defended  vigorously  by  brave 
men  and  veteran  soldiers  ?  We  know  not  how,  but  he  has 
done  it ;  and  Wallenstein  and  his  troopers  are  in  the  midst 
of  Mansfeld's  camp  ;  the  rest  of  the  Austrian  forces  pour  in  ; 
the  victory  is  won,  the  enemy  in  full  flight,  and  the  road  to 
Prague  is  open. 

Such  were  the  tidings  which  reached  the  court  of  Vienna 
and  the  camp  of  Count  Thurn,  spreading  joy  in  the  one  and 
consternation  in  the  other.  To  save  the  Bohemian  capital 
was  now  the  great  object  of  the  insurgents,  and,  breaking  up 
their  camp  at  once,  they  marched  to  meet  Bucquoi  under  the 
walls  of  Prague, 

Vienna  was  saved  by  a  charge  of  cavalry  on  the  banks  of 
the  Moldau.  The  road  to  Frankfort  was  now  free  ;  and  Fer- 
dinand of  Gratz  hurried  to  seize  the  imperial  crown.  Almost 
at  the  same  time  when  he  succeeded  in  his  object,  the  Hun- 
garian people  formally  deposed  him  from  their  throne,  and 
elected  Frederic,  the  Elector  Palatine,  for  their  king. 


286  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

Bethlem  Gabor  now  menaced  Vienna ;  the  Bohemiaa  '. 
troops  hastened  to  join  him ;  terror  spread  before  his  path, 
and  desolation  marked  where  he  had  been.  Bucquoi,  defeat- 
ed by  the  savage  Transylvanian  hordes,  was  unable  to  do  any 
thing  to  save  the  capital ;  and  it  is  attributed  to  Wallenstein 
that  the  Austrian  army  was  preserved,  and  enabled  to  effect 
its  retreat  into  the  large  islands  in  the  Danube.  Neverthe- 
less, Vienna  was  straightened  for  provisions.  Twelve  thou- 
sand Bohemians,  and  an  innumerable  swarm  of  Transylvani- 
ans  and  Hungarians,  lay  within  sight  of  the  city,  and  one 
bold  effort  would  have  put  the  allied  armies  in  possession  of 
the  capital.  But  time  was  wasted  ;  bad  weather  set  in  ;  and 
the  commencement  of  an  unusually  early  and  severe  winter 
drove  the  Bohemians  back  to  their  homes.  Bethlem  Gabor 
retired  to  enjoy  what  he  had  acquired,  and  once  more  Vienna 
was  saved. 

At  the  same  time  policy  had  been  acting  her  part.  Max- 
imilian of  Bavaria,  one  of  the  shrewdest  and  most  calculating 
princes  of  the  age,  had  been  gained  over  to  the  party  of  the 
emperor ;  France  had  been  secretly  dealt  with ;  and  a  dis- 
graceful convention  was  entered  into  at  Ulm,  between  the 
body  called  the  Catholic  League,  of  which  Maximilian  was 
the  head,  and  the  princes  of  the  Protestant  Union,  of  whom 
Frederic,  the  Elector  Palatine,  had  been  the  nominal  leader. 
Those  princes  now  bound  themselves  to  afford  no  aid  to  the 
newly-elected  King  of  Bohemia,  except  in  defense  of  his  he- 
reditary dominions,  while  those  of  the  Catholic  League  did 
not  bind  itself  to  give  no  succor  to  the  emperor.  The  former, 
as  is  but  too  common  with  Protestant  princes,  sacrificed  the 
interests  of  their  religion,  without  remorse,  to  their  personal 
policy ;  and  the  spirit  of  liberty  displayed  in  the  kingdom  of 
Bohemia  was  quite  sufficient  to  counterbalance,  in  the  minds 
of  sovereigns,  the  merits  of  the  Protestant  cause,  in  defense 
of  which  that  kingdom  first  raised  the  standard  of  revolt. 
Although  many  other  causes  combined  to  produce  indifference 
to  the  fate  of  Bohemia  in  the  surrounding  states ;  though 
jealousy,  love  of  tranquillity,  fear  of  the  power  of  Austria,  to- 
gether with  a  thousand  petty  passions,  all  had  tlicir  part,  yet! 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  dull  and  unexpressed  dislike  to 
revolutionary  movements,  however  great  the  provocation  and 
however  just  the  cause,  had  no  slight  share  in  withholding  a 
multitude  of  the  German  princes  from  taking  part  with  Bo- 
hemia, in  its  resistance  to  a  power  which  was  becoming  dan- 
gerous to  the  liberties  of  all  the  German  people. 


WALLENSTEIN.  287 

Nevertheless,  several  distant  states  either  saw  advantages 
to  be  gained  by  the  humiliation  of  Austria,  or  dangers  to  be 
avoided  by  raising  up  a  barrier  to  the  advance  of  her  power. 
Denmark  and  Sweden,  Holland  and  Venice,  with  several  even 
of  the  German  states,  recognized  Frederic  as  King  of  Bohe- 
mia, and  consequently  acknowledged  the  justice  of  the  act 
which  placed  him  on  the  throne. 

The  more  powerful  of  these  states,  however,  were  far  dis- 
tant ;  the  others  were  slow  to  act ;  Ferdinand  of  Gratz  had 
obtained  great  moral  power  by  his  election ;  Maximilian  of 
Bavaria  was  as  active  and  energetic  as  cold  and  politic  ;  and 
before  any  great  movement  was  made  by  the  allies  of  Bohe- 
mia to  check  the  arms  of  the  Catholic  allies,  the  Bohemian 
crown  was  lost  and  won ;  and  the  battle  of  Prague  decided 
the  fate  of  Frederic,  and  left  his  kingdom  at  the  mercy  of  a 
conqueror.  This  event  occurred  on  the  8th  of  November, 
1620  ;  Frederic  fled  from  the  capital  in  despair,  and  the 
whole  of  Bohemia  submitted. 

Wallenstein  was  not  present  at  the  battle  of  Prague,  but 
was  occupied  with  a  body  of  troops  in  some  operations  of  in- 
ferior importance.  He  was  sent  shortly  after  to  maintain  the 
imperial  power  in  the  province  of  Moravia  ;  and,  during  three 
months,  policy  superseded  vengeance.  It  was  not  till  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  imperialists  and  the  Bavarians  were  com 
plete,  and  insurrection  was  guarded  against  in  every  quarter 
that  the  sword  was  unsheathed  to  punish.  Then  many  of  th( 
noblest,  the  bravest,  and  the  most  virtuous  in  the  land  wera 
led  to  public  execution ;  the  estates  of  a  still  greater  numbei 
were  confiscated  and  ordered  to  be  sold  ;  and  Bohemian  exiles 
crowded  the  courts  of  Europe.  A  general  decree  of  proscrip 
tion  afterward  followed,  by  which  all  Protestants  were  ban 
ished  from  the  kingdom ;  and  the  estates  of  more  than  si^ 
hundred  forfeited  nobles  were  sold  to  the  best  bidders. 

It  is  not  necessar}^  here  to  dwell  upon  the  barbarous  crueltj 
of  the  victors.  Nothing  that  the  blackest  page  of  history  can 
show  equals  the  crimes  that  were  perpetrated.  Tyranny  and 
despair,  in  many  places,  produced  resistance ;  and  resistance 
was  drowned  out  in  blood.  The  innocent  were  confounded, 
with  the  guilty,  the  submissive  with  the  refractory.  Old  and 
young  were  slaughtered  together ;  neither  age,  nor  sex,  nor 
station,  nor  character,  afforded  protection  ;  the  flame  of  burn- 
ing towns  and  villages  rose  up  throughout  the  kingdom  ;  and 
the  land  was  watered  with  the  gore  of  its  inhabitants. 

Wallenstein  took  no  part  in  these  atrocities.     Though  a 


288  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

steadfast  Roman  Catholic,  he  had  not  imbibed  the  spirit  of 
persecution.  But  sad  to  say,  not  called  upon  to  exercise  his 
military  talents,  he  engaged  in  meaner  pursuits — ^mean,  even 
■where  the  object  is  elevated  by  the  grandeur  of  the  motive. 
To  be  covetous  from  ambition  can  never  dignify  covetousness. 
Wallenstein's  sole  occupation,  for  many  months  after  his  re- 
turn to  Olmutz,  seems  to  have  been  the  acquisition  of  con- 
fiscated estates.  The  market  was  glutted  with  them  :  few 
could  be  found  wealthy  enough  to  purchase  ;  their  tenure,  too, 
might  be  somewhat  precarious ;  and,  consequently,  the  price 
was  very  low.  To  what  extent  his  acquisitions  went  at  this 
time,  I  do  not  know,  but  they  were  undoubtedly  very  great ; 
and,  within  about  four  years  after  the  battle  of  Prague,  he 
had  expended,  in  the  purchase  of  domains,  nearly  eight  mill- 
ions of  florins.  Each  of  these  estates,  it  is  calculated,  was 
sold  to  him  at  less  than  a  third  of  its  real  value,  so  that  the 
extent  of  the  possessions  he  acquired  may  be  very  easily  con- 
ceived. 

Where  the  money  was  obtained  to  pay  for  them  has  been 
made  a  matter  of  doubt ;  but  wealth  begets  wealth ;  the 
revenues  of  one  domain,  so  cheaply  purchased,  soon  supphed 
the  means  of  acquiring  another ;  and  it  must  ever  be  remem- 
bered that,  though  splendid  in  his  hospitaUty,  luxurious  in  his 
style  of  living,  and  liberal  to  all  who  served  him,  Wallenstein 
conducted  his  domestic  affairs  with  a  degree  of  care,  accuracy, 
and  economy  perfectly  marvelous.  In  the  heat  of  war  and 
in  the  eagerness  of  political  negotiation,  he  never  forgot  for  a 
moment  the  most  thoughtful  supervision  of  his  vast  estates. 
The  most  minute  details  seemed  not  insignificant  in  his  eyes, 
the  grandest  schemes  of  improvement  not  too  vast  for  the  reach 
of  his  mind  ;  and,  from  the  care  of  his  poultry-yard  to  the 
building  of  cities,  the  foundation  of  schools  and  colleges,  and 
the  regulation  of  the  power  of  the  priesthood  in  his  domains, 
nothing  was  forgotten,  neglected,  or  postponed.  His  letters 
show  a  variety  of  objects,  a  combination  of  powers,  and  a  gen- 
eral grasp  of  mmd  perhaps  unparalleled. 

While  thus  occupied  in  acquiring,  regulating,  and  improv- 
ing, the  military  genius  of  Wallenstein  was  not  allowed  to 
slumber  unemployed.  Bethlem  Gabor  again  troubled  the 
Austrian  empire,  and  in  the  Hungarian  war,  as  it  is  some- 
times called,  gained  immense  and  extraordinary  success,  when 
the  composition  of  his  armies  is  considered.  Dampier  and 
Bucquoi  fell  before  him  ;  no  effort  of  the  emperor  seemed  capa- 
ble of  stopping  his  advance  ;  and  he  received  no  check  of  any 


VVALLENSTEIN.  289. 

importance  till  Wallenstein  was  called  into  the  iield  against 
him.  But  then  the  balance  turned.  The  Bohemian  and  the 
Transylvanian  met  at  Schamitz ;  Bethlem  Gabor  had  not 
concentrated  his  whde  army,  and  was  defeated  ;  and  again 
at  Kremser,  Wallenstein  was  victorious  over  another  division 
of  the  Transylvanian  forces,  toward  the  end  of  1621.  The 
Prince  of  Transylvania  sued  for  and  obtained  peace,  and  re- 
tired to  prepare  for  a  renewal  of  the  war. 

Less  than  two  years  had  elapsed  ere  Bethlem  Gabor  was 
again  in  the  field ;  but  Wallenstein  seenis  to  have  been  in 
some  degree  neglected,  or,  at  all  events,  his  merits  were  not  suf- 
ficiently appreciated.  An  Italian  officer,  of  the  name  of  Ca- 
raffa,  was  appointed  to  the  chief  command  of  the  army  against 
the  Transylvanians ;  and  Wallenstein  occupied  an  inferior 
position,  Wallenstein  was  not  altogether  above  jealousy. 
He  wooed  glory  as  a  bride,  and  would  not  share  the  possession 
with  any  one.  He  kept  aloof  from  CarafTa,  with  the  corps 
which  he  commanded.  Not,  indeed,  that  he  showed  any 
criminal  neglect,  as  has  been  stated ;  for  of  that  there  is  not 
the  shghtest  proof,  and  Carafia's  force  and  high  military  repu- 
tation seemed  to  render  the  immediate  co-operation  of  Wal- 
lenstein unnecessary.  Caraffa,  however,  was  defeated  and 
surrounded.  No  means  of  escape  were  left  him ;  and  his 
whole  army  was  in  the  most  perilous  position.  But  Wallen- 
stein appeared  at  the  critical  moment,  to  deliver  the  imperial 
general ;  the  blockade  was  forced,  and  the  army  saved. 

Honors  now  began  to  flow  in  upon  Wallenstein.  His  mili- 
tary skill  and  great  services  were  admitted  by  all  men ;  and 
he  was  created  Duke  of  Friedland,  with  the  dignity  of  Count 
Palatine.  This  elevation  gave  him  the  power  of  honoring 
those  who  served  him,  for  attached  to  it  was  the  privilege  of 
granting  patents  of  nobility,  as  well  as  that  of  coining  money. 
But  the  new  prince,  for  as  such  we  must  now  regard  him, 
was  not  without  enemies  and  difficulties.  Charges  were  from 
time  to  time  made  against  him  at  the  imperial  court ;  and 
certainly,  the  license  which  he  tolerated,  if  he  did  not  en- 
courage it,  in  the  armies  he  commanded,  gave  just  ground  for 
complaint.  He  acted  upon  the  principle  of  making  the  war 
keep  the  war ;  and  at  this  Ferdinand  had  no  right  to  mur- 
mur ;  for  the  imperial  treasury  was  very  low ;  both  soldiers 
and  officers  badly  paid ;  and  the  armies,  absolutely  necessary 
for  the  defense  of  the  empire,  could  not  have  been  kept  on  foot 
by  any  other  means.  Wallenstein  seems  to  have  gone  some- 
what further,  indeed,  and  to  have  taken  little  heed  if  the  con- 

N 


290  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

tributions,  raised  by  his  officers  in  the  countries  where  they 
were  quartered,  amounted  to  a  sufficient  sum  to  reward  them 
for  their  military  services,  as  well  as  to  supply  the  troops  with 
necessaries.  Great  was  the  muraiuring,  then,  of  the  districts 
through  which  the  triumphant  general  passed ;  and  the  em- 
peror, while  loading  him  with  distinctions,  had  more  than 
once  to  remonstrate  against  the  exactions  which  he  permitted. 
The  enthusiastic  love  and  admiration  of  the  soldiery,  how- 
ever, followed  their  ever-liberal  leader  ;  and  all  men  were 
eager  to  serve  under  one  with  whom  honor  and  wealth  were 
sure  to  be  acquired. 

Very  different  was  the  conduct  of  Wallenstein  in  regard  to 
his  own  domains,  and  to  those  which  were  the  theater  of  war. 
Without  dwelling  long  upon  the  subject,  and  particularizing 
various  instances  of  his  paternal  care  and  judicious  activity  in 
promoting  and  securing  the  prosperity  and  happiness  of  his 
people,  it  would  be  difficult  to  give  even  a  faint  idea  of  the 
zealous  and  watchful  interest  he  took  in  their  welfare.  Suf- 
fice it  that  nothing  was  neglected,  and  that,  had  we  not  the 
records  of  his  military  achievements  and  his  political  plans, 
we  might  conceive,  from  his  letters,  that  his  mind  had  been 
incessantly  occupied  by  the  care  of  his  vast  possessions. 

While  Wallenstein  was  combating  the  Turkish  and  Tran- 
sylvanian  hordes  in  the  south  and  east,  events  were  taking 
place  in  the  north  and  west  of  Germany  which  opened  for 
him  a  wider  field,  and  a  more  glorious  and  dangerous  career. 
The  unhappy  Elector  Palatine,  driven  in  sorrow  and  disgrace 
from  Bohemia,  soon  saw  himself  stripped  of  his  hereditary  do- 
minions by  the  power  and  authority  of  Austria,  the  arms  of 
Bavaria  and  the  Catholic  League,  and  the  military  skill  of 
Tilly.  The  Protestant  princes  of  the  empire,  in  general, 
showed  the  most  shameful  and  lamentable  indifference,  both 
to  the  fate  of  their  brother  and  ally  and  to  the  religious  and 
political  perils  which  menaced  themselves.  The  only  persons 
who  attempted  to  stem  the  torrent  of  Austro-Catholic  invasion 
in  the  Palatinate  were  Count  Mansfeld,  the  Margrave  of  Ba- 
den Durlach,  and  Duke  Christian  of  Brunswick.  A  small 
corps  of  English  auxiliaries  assisted  ;  and  great  courage,  en- 
ergy, and  resolution  were  displayed  ;  but  against  Spinola  with 
a  Spanish,  and  Tilly  with  a  Bavarian  army,  the  ground  could 
not  be  maintained.  Battles  and  skirmishes  were  fought  and 
lost ;  towns  were  besieged  and  taken,  till  at  length  the  Cath- 
olic League  was  master  of  the  Palatinate  ;  and  the  power  of 
the  emperor  menaced  the  liberties  of  all  Germany. 


WALL  EN  STEIN.  291 


CHAPTER   III. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  veiy  extreiriity  of  the  peril,  the  very  depression  of  the 
powers  of  Protestant  Germany,  at  length  called  into  active 
resistance  those  who  should  have  resisted  long  before.  The 
Elector  of  Saxony,  a  base  and  selfish  man,  had  openly  taken 
part  with  the  house  of  Austria,  in  putting  down  the  insurrec- 
tion of  Bohemia ;  but  Ferdinand  was  not  a  man  to  be  very 
grateful  for  services,  the  objects  of  which  were  all  ambitious  ; 
and  the  elector  saw,  with  dismay,  the  extent  of  power  to 
which  Austria  had  attained.  The  proceedings  of  the  emper- 
or, too,  gave  good  reasons  for  supposing  that  the  laws  of  the 
empire  itself  would  be  considered  no  barrier  to  his  designs. 
His  dealings  with  the  conquered  Palatinate  had  been  opposed 
to  all  law,  and  carried  out  in  spite  of  all  remonstrance  ;  and 
Bavaria  and  Austria  still  kept  the  sword  unsheathed,  without 
notifying  against  whom  it  was  next  to  be  directed. 

Tilly,  the  great  general  of  the  Roman  Catholic  League, 
very  soon,  upon  frivolous  pretenses,  pushed  his  excursions  into 
Lower  Germany ;  and  it  began  to  be  feared,  or  understood, 
that  the  strong-hold  of  Protestantism  in  the  empire  was  to  be 
invaded  by  the  same  powers  which  had  completely  subdued 
the  south.  These  apprehensions  counseled  preparation  ;  and 
it  is  probable  that,  when  once  the  determination  to  resist  was 
adopted,  the  views  of  the  Protestant  states  went  further  ;  that 
the  egregious  error  which  they  had  committed,  in  remaining 
inactive  so  long,  was  perceived ;  and  that  a  resolution  was 
taken  to  atone  for  the  past,  as  well  as  to  guard  against  the 
future.  To  reduco  the  authority  of  the  emperor  to  its  lawful 
limits,  and  to  break  the  exorbitant  power  of  the  Catholic 
League,  were  objects  which  naturally  presented  themselves  to 
the  minds  of  men ;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  these 
objects  were  sought  for  by  the  Protestants,  as  well  as  those 
which  they  avowed. 

The  circles  of  Lower  Saxony  began  to  arm ;  negotiations 
were  entered  into  with  neighboring  and  remote  powers,  En- 
gland, Denmark,  Sweden,  Venice,  Holland,  France,  were  ap- 
plied to ;  and  hopes  and  encouragements  of  some  kind  were 


892  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

derived  from  all.  The  spirit  spread.  The  administrator  of 
Magdeburg,  the  Duke  of  Brunswick,  the  Duke  of  Mecklen- 
burg, took  part  with  the  circles  of  Lower  Saxony  ;  England 
promised  men  and  money ;  and  Christian  IV.  of  Denmark 
made  ready  for  the  field.  Arms,  troops,  and  stores  were  col- 
lected ;  magazines  were  formed  ;  fortifications  were  repaired  ; 
and  an  army  of  sixty  thousand  men  started  up  to  defend  the 
liberties  which  had  been  so  long  forgotten. 

The  cabinet  of  Vieima  was  both  angry  and  alarmed.  Re- 
monstrances and  threats  were  used,  but  without  success.  The 
confederates  were  too  strong  to  be  apprehensive,  and  were  now 
ahve  to  evils  which  they  had  long  overlooked.  The  King  of 
Denmark,  too,  had  in  his  large  continental  possessions  both  a 
motive  and  an  encouragement ;  for  the  safety  of  Holstein  and 
Jutland  depended  upon  the  safety  of  Lower  Saxony  ;  and  nei- 
ther Denmark  nor  Sweden  could  see  the  power  of  the  emper- 
or extended,  with  unlimited  sway,  to  the  shores  of  the  Baltic, 
without  jealousy  and  alarm.  At  the  same  time,  those  two 
possessions  insured  to  the  King  of  Denmark  both  support  and 
retreat,  in  case  of  disaster  in  Germany  proper  ;  and,  although 
a  lover  of  pleasure,  and  in  some  degree  addicted  to  excess, 
Chi'istian  IV.  of  Denmark  was  a  warlike  prince  and  a  skill- 
ful soldier.  He  received  the  command-in-chief  of  the  Protest- 
ant army,  but  prudently  waited  for  aggression  on  the  part  of 
the  enemy. 

The  imperial  orders  were  given,  after  all  negotiations  htid 
failed  ;  and  Count  Tilly,  following  the  course  of  the  Weser, 
advanced,  as  if  to  put  the  contest  to  the  issue  of  a  battle. 
The  principality  of  Kalemberg  w£is  soon  overrun  by  the  Ba- 
varian troops,  while  the  King  of  Denmark,  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Weser,  spread  himself  out  in  the  Duchy  of  Brunswick, 
weakening  somewhat  too  much,  it  is  said,  the  main  body  of 
his  army  by  detachments  sent  to  protect  particular  points  of 
importance.  Tilly,  however,  was  not  strong  enough  to  under- 
take much  in  the  presence  of  such  a  general  as  Christian  IV., 
and  no  great  progress  was  made  on  either  side. 

At  length,  however,  the  concentration  of  the  King  of  Den- 
mark's forces,  the  reappearance  of  Mansfeld  and  Christian  of 
Brunswick  in  the  field,  and  the  rumor  of  fresh  levies  in  Lower 
Saxony,  with  the  threatening  aspect  of  Sweden,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  active  negotiations  for  help  were  going  on  between 
the  Protestant  leaders  and  foreign  countries,  comi)elled  Tilly 
to  apply  to  the  emperor  for  prompt  and  immediate  support. 

Ferdinand,  however,  had  nothing  to  give ;  his  resouroea 


WALLENSTEIN.  t93 

were  exhausted ;  the  Austrian  troops  were  all  employed,  either 
in  keeping  in  subjection  the  south  of  Germany,  or  in  watch- 
ing the  enemies  which  menaced  the  empire  from  the  side  of 
Transylvania.  All  the  greatest  achievements  of  the  war  had 
been  effected  by  the  forces  of  Bavaria  and  the  Catholic  League^ 
which  were  now  found  insufficient  to  attain  the  object  in  view 
in  Northern  Germany  ;  and  Ferdinand  was  not  well  pleased 
to  be  wholly  dependent  upon  Bavaria  and  the  Catholic  League 
for  success  and  power.  Not  only,  however,  did  there  seem  no 
remedy  for  a  state  so  dangerous  to  the  permanence  of  his  au- 
thority, but  the  advantages  gained  seemed  likely  to  be  wrest- 
ed from  him,  and  his  overbearing  rule  greatly  reduced.  In 
this  dilemma,  without  men,  without  money,  without  means 
of  any  kind  to  recover  a  decided  preponderance  in  the  field, 
Ferdinand  received  an  offer  which  seemed  to  many  of  his 
courtiers  merely  the  vision  of  a  presumptuous  madman,  and 
even  to  Ferdinand  himself  must  have  appeared  delusive. 

Wallenstein  came  to  the  emperor's  aid,  and  proposed,  on 
certain  conditions,  to  raise  and  equip,  by  his  own  exertions,  an 
army  of  fifty  thousand  men.  It  is  generally  stated  that  this 
was  to  be  done  at  his  own  expense ;  but  this  is  not  exactly 
accurate,  although  undoubtedly  all  the  labor,  and  the  first 
great  expenses,  lell  for  the  time  upon  Wallenstein.  It  ap- 
pears clear,  however,  that  that  great  officer  was  ultimately  to 
be  repaid,  either  from  the  imperial  treasury,  or  from  contri- 
butions and  confiscations  in  the  countries  which  he  was  des- 
tined to  invade  ;  and  h^  avoided  a  considerable  portion  even 
of  the  first  expenses  by  the  method  he  took  to  gather  his  army 
together.  He  stipulated  for,  and  received  power  to  repay  him- 
self and  reward  his  officers  ;  and  he  apparently  left  the  same 
liberty  to  those  commanders  who  brought  him  in  bodies  of 
volunteers.  Stripped  of  all  decent  formalities,  what  he  de- 
manded and  what  he  gave  was  a  general  commission  to  plun- 
der to  a  certain  amount ;  and  we  find  indications  of  the  ex- 
tent to  which  the  commission  was  nominally  limited  ;  for  we 
are  assured  that  the  imperial  government,  though  it  paid  noth- 
ing in  the  first  instance,  allowed  six  hundred  thousand  florins 
as  levy  money  for  each  infantry  regiment.  This  was  evident- 
ly to  be  obtained  how  the  officers  could  ;  but  it  is  clear  that 
accounts  were  to  be  kept  and  afterward  arranged  with  the 
emperor's  treasury. 

The  ofler  was  a  great  relief  to  Ferdinand ;  but,  while  some 
laughed  at  the  proposal  as  chimerical,  others  insinuated  ap- 
prehensions in  regard  to  the  views  of  the  proposer.     The  em- 


294  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

peror  sought  to  diminish  the  numbers  of  the  stipulated  force  ; 
hut  Wallenstein  was  firm.  He  represented  that  a  less  num- 
ber of  men  would  not  even  be  able  to  maintain  themselves, 
much  less  to  effect  any  important  object.  The  emperor,  of 
course,  yielded  ;  and  Wallenstein,  raising  his  standard  at  Egra, 
called  all  soldiers  who  were  willing  to  serve  under  him  to  as- 
semble at  certain  appointed  places. 

With  marvelous  quickness,  a  powerful  army  started  into 
existence.  The  fame  of  Wallenstein  had  spread  to  every  part 
of  Europe ;  and  all  the  adventurous  soldiers  at  that  time  un- 
occupied rushed  from  north,  south,  east,  and  west  toward  Bo- 
hemia, to  enlist  under  the  great  and  liberal  commander.  No 
questions  were  asked ;  no  country,  no  religion  was  an  objec- 
tion. Strength,  courage,  arms  of  some  kind,  were  the  only 
things  required  of  any  man.  In  a  month  twenty  thousand 
soldiers  were  ready  for  the  field  ;  and  very  shortly  after,  Wal- 
lenstein was  marching  toward  Lower  Saxony  at  the  head  of 
thirty  thousand  men. 

The  rapidity  with  which  this  extraordinary  undertaking 
was  executed,  of  course  left  little  time  for  equipment  or  for 
training.  The  army  was  ragged  and  ill-disciplined.  But 
splendor  soon  succeeded  to  the  appearance  of  poverty  ;  and,  in 
a  very  few  weeks,  discipline  was  sufficiently  established  to  en- 
able the  general  to  defeat  completely  the  forces  of  the  Duke 
of  Brunswick  Lunenberg,  at  Gottingen. 

These  troops  had  been  sent,  apparently,  to  prevent  his  ef- 
fecting a  junction  with  Tilly  ;  but  W?illenstein  had  no  inten- 
tion of  effecting  such  a  junction  at  all.  He  would  have  no 
commander  to  overrule  his  plans,  no  comrade  to  share  in  his 
glory.  Keeping  aloof  from  Tilly,  but  holding  constant  com- 
munications with  him,  in  which  the  struggle  for  superior  au- 
thority was  sometimes  visible,  Wallenstein  thought  it  enough 
to  divide,  and  defeat  in  detail  the  armies  of  the  confederate 
states,  leavhig  Tilly  to  do  the  same  on  his  part. 

His  appearance  in  the  field,  the  extent  of  his  forces,  and  the 
success  of  his  operations,  soon  drove  the  King  of  Denmark  and 
the  Lower  German  states  to  open  a  negotiation  for  peace. 
Tilly,  it  would  appear,  might  have  sullered  himself  to  be 
brought  to  mild  terms,  or  to  be  lulled  into  inactivity  by  spe- 
cious proposals  ;  but  Wallenstein  cut  the  negotiation  short, 
by  demands  too  outrageous  and  domineering  to  be  listened  to 
by  a  king  at  the  head  of  sixty  or  seventy  thousand  men. 

No  very  striking  events  occurred  in  the  latter  part  of  1625  ; 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  exhausted  state  of  the  country, 


WALLENSTEIN.  895 

swept  by  such  numerous  armies,  a  large  portion  of  which  nei- 
ther spared  nor  economized,  prevented  rapid  or  decided  move- 
ments on  either  side.  Still,  however,  Wallenstein  gained 
ground,  and  still  his  forces  increased,  while  he  labored  dili- 
gently, in  the  midst  of  all  his  purely  military  operations,  4;o 
obtaui  more  certain  supplies  than  the  countries  which  he  in- 
vaded could  afford.  All  the  resources  of  his  own  principali- 
ties were  taxed  to  the  utmost,  to  furnish  stores  for  the  impe- 
rial troops  ;  and  although  wo  must  not  say  that  he  organized 
a  commissariat,  yet  he  certainly  made  some  steps  toward  the 
improvement  of  a  branch  of  military  science,  not  even  now 
sufficiently  attended  to,  and  then  very  generally  neglected. 

•  The  next  campaign  was  opened  early  in  the  year,  by  Tilly 
on  the  Weser,  and  Wallenstein  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Elbe. 
The  first  operations  of  the  latter  general  were  undertaken  in 
the  little  duchy  of  Anhalt,  where  he  seized  upon  the  bridge 
over  the  Elbe  at  Dessau,  in  order  to  command  a  free  passage 
at  any  time  over  the  river,  and  open  a  way  into  Brandenburg. 
Strong  redoubts  were  immediately  erected  on  the  right  bank  ; 
and  the  importance  of  this  position  being  instantly  seen  by  the 
Protestant  princes,  Count  Mansfeld,  with  his  veteran  bands, 
was  ordered  to  attack  the  bridge,  and  make  every  effort  to  ob- 
tain possession  of  the  passage.  Three  several  battles  or  skir- 
mishes took  place  in  the  month  of  April.  In  the  first  two,  all 
Mansfeld's  efforts  were  defeated  by  the  mere  resolute  defense 
of  the  redoubts ;  but  when  his  movements,  on  the  24th,  an- 
nounced a  renewal  of  the  attack,  Wallenstein  caused  the 
bridge  to  be  hung  with^ail-cloth,  so  as  to  conceal  his  intended 
operations,  passed  his  whole  army  over,  and,  on  the  25th,  is- 
sued forth  to  meet  Mansfeld  in  the  field,  when  a  sanguinary 
engagement  ensued,  and  the  troops  of  the  Protestant  leader 
were  routed  with  terrible  loss. 

Nevertheless,  little  more  than  a  month  had  passed  ere  the 
indefatigable  Mansfeld  was  again  at  the  head  of  twenty  thou- 
sand men.  A  large  body  of  English  auxiliaries  having  landed 
at  Hamburg  some  time  before,  and  a  portion,  if  not  the  whole, 
having  gone  to  swell  the  count's  force,  a  new  plan  of  opera- 
tions now  suggested  itself  to  the  daring  Mansfeld.  He  had 
found  means  to  recruit  and  refresh  himself  even  in  the  sands 
of  Brandenburg,  and  had  also,  it  would  appear,  opened  com- 
munications with  Bethlem  Gabor,  who  was  now  operating  in 
Hungary.  He  determined,  then,  to  make  a  dash  through  Si- 
lesia, in  order  to  effect  his  junction  with  the  Transylvanian, 
to  be  followed  by  a  combined  attack  upon  Vienna. 


29e  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

No  sooner  was  this  design  discovered  by  the  imperial  court 
than  terror  seized  upon  the  emperor  and  his  ministers.  In- 
stant commands  were  sent  off  to  Wallenstein  to  hasten  after 
Mansfeld ;  and  although  he  remonstrated  earnestly  against 
being  compelled  to  abandon  all  his  plans,  and  pointed  out  the 
inevitable  loss  and  injury  which  his  army  would  sustain  in 
the  passage  of  the  Carpathian  Mountains,  the  orders  to  march 
were  reiterated,  and  Wallenstein  obeyed.  He  was  not  in 
time,  indeed,  to  prevent  the  junction  of  Mansfeld's  forces  with 
Bethlem  Gabor,  and  the  immense  loss  which  he  had  antici- 
pated took  place  in  his  own  ranks.  But  Vienna  was  now  pro- 
tected by  a  powerful  army  ;  the  supplies  which  Bethlem  Ga- 
bor had  expected  did  not  arrive  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the 
junction  of  Mansfeld,  he  hastened,  as  usual,  to  conclude  a 
hollow  truce  with  Vienna. 

Mansfeld,  mortified  and  disheartened,  determined  to  seek 
supplies  of  money  from  the  Venetian  republic,  and,  resigning 
the  command  of  his  troops  to  a  prince  of  Weimar,  set  out  for 
Venice  in  person.  He  was  taken  ill,  however,  in  Dalmatia, 
and  died,  it  is  said,  of  a  broken  heart,  though  more  probably 
from  one  of  the  diseases  of  the  country. 

Nothing  more  was  to  be  done  in  the  south  of  Germany. 
Wallenstein  had  been  deprived  of  the  glor}'  he  had  expected 
in  the  north ;  and,  placing  his  troops  in  winter  quarters,  he 
proceeded  to  Vienna,  to  prepare  for  the  campaign  of  the  suc- 
ceeding year,  and  to  silence  his  enemies,  who  were  busy  at 
the  ear  of  Ferdinand.  Blame  was  cast  upon  him,  both  for 
what  he  had  done  and  for  what  he  had  not  done.  Men  said 
he  had  not  obeyed  with  sufficient  alacrity  the  imperial  order 
to  march  after  Mansfeld,  and  yet,  with  strange  inconsistency, 
censured  him  for  the  losses  which  his  army  had  sustained  in 
the  Carpathian  Mountains,  although  he  had  foreseen  and  pre- 
dicted those  losses  before  he  began  the  march.  Another  mor- 
tification, which  followed  his  recall  from  the  north  of  Ger- 
many, was  to  see  Tilly  gather  the  laurels  which  he  had  hoped 
to  win. 

No  sooner  was  the  field  clear  of  Wallenstein,  than  the  King 
of  Denmark  attempted  to  take  advantage  of  his  absence  for 
the  purpose  of  carrjing  on  more  active  operations.  But  the, 
veteran  Tilly  not  only  out-maneuvered  him  completely,  but 
forced  him  to  a  battle  at  the  village  of  Lutter,  in  the  Barm- 
berg,  and  gave  him  a  terrible  defeat.  Sixty  standards,  the 
whole  artillery,  baggage,  and  ammunition  of  the  Danish  army 
were  lost,  and  between  four  and  five  thousand  dead  remained 


WALLENSTEIN.  297 

upon  the  field.  Terror  seized  all  the  Protestant  states  of 
northern  Germany  ;  the  people  would  make  no  effort  to  sup- 
port their  princes  in  resisting  the  imperial  power  ;  and  apathy 
and  fear  reigned  supreme.  The  states  vainly  fancied  that 
submission  would  bring  peace,  and  that  the  emperor  would  be 
contented  with  the  humiliation  which  had  been  inflicted  upon 
them.  But  they  soon  learned  that  such  was  little  the  inten- 
tion of  the  imperial  tyrant,  and  still  less  of  his  haughty  general. 

No  sooner  did  spring  appear  than  Wallenstein  was  in  the 
field  again,  at  the  head  of  forty  thousand  men  ;  and  his  march 
was  a  triumphal  procession  through  Silesia,  Brandenburg,  and 
Mecklenburg,  to  the  frontiers  of  Holstein.  In  vain  did  states 
remonstrate  and  princes  sue  ;  in  vain  did  some  pretend  neu- 
trahty,  and  some  offer  submission.  Wallenstein  spurned  of- 
fers, proposals,  and  negotiations,  openly  proclaimed  the  abso- 
lute power  of  the  emperor,  and  gave  a  significant  notification 
that  the  German  empire,  as  previously  constituted,  was  to 
be  brought  to  an  end.  No  more  electors,  no  more  princely 
confederations  :  an  absolute  monarch  and  a  submissive  coun- 
try was  that  which  Wallenstein  proposed  to  raise  up  and  to 
maintain.  Neither  did  he  desire  any  sharer  in  his  counsels 
or  his  deeds  ;  and,  upon  an  idle  pretense,  Tilly  was  sent  across 
the  Elbe,  to  keep  the  Dutch  in  check,  while  the  imperial  gen- 
eral pursued  the  Danish  army  toward  its  own  country. 

More  than  once  that  army  turned  and  attempted  to  bar 
the  way ;  but  a  series  of  brilliant  actions  at  Heiligenhausen 
only  added  to  the  renown  of  Wallenstein  and  to  the  disasters 
of  the  Danes.  Holstein,  and  Jutland  itself,  were  overrun  by 
the  still  increasing  forces  of  Wallenstein  ;  and  the  King  of 
Denmark  was  obhged  to  embark  the  ruins  of  his  array,  and 
seek  refuge  in  his  islands.  All  this  was  accomplished  in  one 
campaign  ;  and  the  army  of  Wallenstein,  now  swelled  to  the 
number  of  a  hundred  thousand  men,  lived  at  free  quarters  in 
the  subjected  principalities,  raised  contributions,  committed  all 
sorts  of  excesses,  and  punished  the  states  of  northern  Germany 
for  their  pusillanimous  inactivity. 

The  Duchy  of  Mecklenburg  was  Wallenstein's  reward  for 
his  successful  campaign.  Much  opposition  was  made  to  the 
grant  by  many  of  the  imperial  counselors  ;  but  Ferdinand  had 
other  debts  toward  Wallenstein,  besides  that  of  gratitude. 
An  immense  sum  was  owing  to  him  for  the  levy  and  equip- 
ment of  troops,  and  the  imperial  debtor  had  no  means  of  re- 
paying him  but  by  acquiescence  in  his  ambitious  demands. 
In  order  to  press  his  suit  with  the  emperor,  who  was  then  at 

N2 


298  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

Prague,  Wallenstein  had  quitted  the  scenes  of  his  conquests, 
and  returned  to  Bohemia  ;  but  he  had  left  Count  Arnheim  in 
command  of  the  army,  and  kept  up  with  him  a  constant  and 
eager  correspondence. 

It  is  now  that  the  towering  genius  and  vast  grasp  of  Wal- 
lenstein's  mind  shine  out  most  conspicuously.  Not  contented 
with  having  rendered  the  emperor  all-powerful  in  Germany, 
he  resolves  to  make  him  master  of  the  Baltic.  Fleets  are  to 
be  created  ;  sea-ports  are  to  be  strengthened  and  improved ; 
immense  naval  arsenals  are  to  be  prepared  ;  and  order  after 
order  is  given  by  Wallenstein  to  Arnheim,  with  a  view  to  the 
steps  necessary  lor  the  accomplishment  of  these  great  purposes. 

At  the  same  time,  though  absent,  he  shows  great  anxiety 
for  the  maintenance,  or,  perhaps,  I  might  more  properly  say, 
for  the  establishment  of  discipline  in  the  army.  He  had  tol- 
erated, because  he  was  obliged  to  tolerate,  great  excesses  and 
terrible  exactions  ;  but  we  are  bound  to  admit  that  his  corre- 
spondence does  not  display  any  of  that  spirit  of  peculation  of 
which  he  had  been  accused.  On  the  contrary,  we  find  him 
refusing  indignantly  any  share  in  the  contributions  which  had 
been  demanded  ;  and  he  now  gives  stern  and  severe  ordere  for 
punishing  with  the  utmost  rigor  those  officers  of  whose  op- 
pression he  had  been  informed.  He  even  threatens  Picco- 
lomini,  one  of  his  most  distinguished  and  favorite  officers,  and 
refuses  to  countenance  him  in  his  unjust  exactions. 

Notwithstanding  these  efforts,  however,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  license  of  the  most  frightful  character  existed  in 
his  armies,  which  may  be  described  as  bands  of  robbers  on  a 
grand  scale.  He  had  formed  and  supported  them,  Schiller 
tells  us,  upon  the  exanaj)le  of  Mansfeld,  but  the  scholars  soon 
exceeded  the  master. 

The  very  precarious  power  which  a  commander  held  over 
men  so  enlisted  and  kept  together  rendered  Wallenstein  pecul- 
iarly anxious  at  this  time  to  introduce  some  better  system  ; 
for,  even  at  the  beginning  of  1628,  he  foresaw,  almost  with  a 
prophetic  eye,  the  coming  contest  with  the  Swedes,  and  seems 
to  have  been  fully  aware  of  the  perils  and  the  importance  of 
the  struggle.  Anxiously  and  repeatedly,  in  his  letters,  he  or- 
ders all  the  motions  of  Gustavus  Adolphus  to  be  watched, 
long  before  that  prince  showed  the  slightest  intention  of  invad- 
ing Germany  ;  and  a  strange  sort  of  fear  and  suspicion  regard- 
ing him,  almost  amounting  to  hatred,  mark  all  Wallenstein's 
thoughts  at  this  time.  He  even  orders  the  King  of  Sweden's 
horoBoope  to  be  drawn  by  various  celebrated  astrologers  ;  and, 


WALLENSTEIN.  299 

though  we  know  not  the  result,  it  is  clear  that  Wallenstein 
felt  a  presentiment  that  a  struggle  for  Jife  and  death  was  des- 
tined to  take  place  hetween  him  and  the  Swedish  monarch. 

Still  he  pursues  his  plans  without  hesitation,  determines  to 
hreak  the  maritime  power  of  Denmark,  even  attempts  to  use 
the  discontent  of  the  Danish  people,  in  order  to  dethrone 
Christian  IV.  and  obtain  the  crown  for  the  emperor ;  and 
early  in  1628,  he  resumes  his  military  operations,  and  his 
great  schemes  for  creating  a  naval  force  in  the  Baltic. 

Almost  all  the  sea-ports  of  Pomerania  and  Mecklenburg 
were  completely  at  the  disposal  of  the  great  commander.  One 
alone  showed  a  determined  spirit  of  resistance,  proclaimed  its 
independence,  as  one  of  the  free  Hanseatic  Towns,  and  refused 
to  admit  the  troops  of  the  conqueror.  Arnheim,  in  Wallen- 
stein's  absence,  attempted,  by  negotiations,  persuasions,  and 
threats,  to  gain  peaceful  possession  of  this  town  of  Stralsund, 
which,  situated  in  a  very  strong  position,  opposite  to  the  Isle 
of  Rugen,  was  an  object  of  anxious  desire  to  the  imperial 
commander.  The  people  of  Stralsund,  however,  encouraged 
by  the  Danes,  resisted  all  his  proposals  ;  and  at  length  force 
was  resorted  to.  By  the  23d  of  May,  Arnheim  had  obtained 
possession,  after  two  attacks,  of  all  the  principal  outworks ; 
but  re-enforcements  of  English  and  Danish  troops  inspired  the 
people  with  a  determination  to  resist  to  the  last ;  and  Wal- 
lenstein's  pertinacious  resolution  to  reduce  this  city  brought 
about  the  event  he  most  dreaded,  the  interference  of  the  King 
of  Sweden  in  the  war. 

Hopeless  of  obtaining  greater  support  from  Denmark,  un- 
able to  resist  alone  the  imperial  arms,  the  people  of  Stralsund 
applied  to  Gustavus  Adolphus  for  assistance ;  and  sixteen 
hundred  men,  in  two  divisions,  under  David  Leslie  and  Count 
Brahe,  were  at  once  sent  for  their  defense.  By  the  efforts  of 
these  forces,  all  that  Arnheim  had  taken  was  soon  recovered. 

Such  was  the  state  of  aflairs  when  Wallenstein  joined  the 
army ;  and,  in  a  general  assault,  at  once  recaptured  all  the 
external  works,  and  was  only  repelled  from  the  inner  line  of 
defenses  by  the  gallant  determination  of  the  Scottish  troops. 
His  batteries  soon  ruined  the  walls,  and  left  the  place,  in  fact, 
no  longer  tenable.  Negotiations  for  a  capitulation  were  com- 
menced and  protracted  for  some  time ;  but  the  arrival  of  a 
Danish  fleet  in  the  port,  and  a  promise,  soon  fulfilled,  of  fur- 
ther succor,  revived  the  courage  of  the  inhabitants.  The  ne- 
gotiations were  broken  off,  and  the  siege  recommenced. 

The  hour  of  fortune,  however,  had  now  passed ;  tremen- 


300  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

dons  rains  set  in ;  the  ground  around  the  city  became  a  marsh ; 
a  fever  broke  out  in  Wallenstein's  camp,  sweeping  oflf  hund- 
reds of  his  men  in  a  day  ;  a  Danish  army  landed  at  Jasmund, 
threatening  the  rear  of  Wallenstein's  army  ;  and  with  bitter- 
ness of  heart  he  found  himself  compelled  to  raise  the  siege 
and  march  against  the  enemy.  The  Danes,  however,  imme- 
diately re-embarked  their  troops,  but  landed  again  at  Wolgast 
and  Hohendorf  By  a  rapid  and  brilliant  movement  the  im- 
perial general  surprised  them  before  they  could  re-embark, 
and  defeated  their  army  with  terrible  loss.  The  Castle  of 
Wolgast  enabled  the  routed  Danish  forces  to  gain  their  ships, 
by  turning  its  guns  against  the  enemy ;  but  Wallenstein's 
victory  was  complete,  and  afforded  some  consolation  for  his 
disappointment  at  Stralsund. 

In  the  mean  time,  all  his  efforts  to  create  a  fleet  in  the 
Baltic  had  proved  ineffectual.  The  Spanish  branch  of  the 
house  of  Austria  had  promised  to  put  twenty  large  ships  at 
the  emperor's  disposal ;  but  these  ships  never  appeared  ;  and 
a  fruitless  attempt  to  take  the  town  of  Gliickstadt,  which  was 
constantly  relieved  by  the  Danish  vessels,  showed  Wallenstein 
that  a  war  with  a  naval  power  was  hopeless  without  a  navy. 
His  views  on  this  subject  were  laid  in  detail  before  the  em- 
peror ;  and  he  strongly  urged  the  necessity  of  concluding  a 
peace  with  Denmark.  Ferdinand,  satisfied  with  the  immense 
power  he  had  obtained,  yielded  a  willing  consent ;  and  Tilly 
and  Wallenstein  opened  negotiations  with  Danish  plenipoten- 
tiaries at  Liibeck.  The  terms  were  arranged  without  much 
difficulty  ;  all  the  possessions  of  the  King  of  Denmark  were 
restored  ;  Christian  solemnly  pledged  himself  never  to  inter- 
fere any  more  in  the  affairs  of  Germany ;  and  the  treaty  was 
signed  in  1629. 

The  whole  German  empire  seemed  now  at  the  disposal  of 
Ferdinand.  Every  thing  submitted  to  him.  His  word  was, 
in  fact,  law  in  the  empire  ;  but  Wallenstein  had  foreseen  the 
storm  that  was  soon  to  burst  upon  Germany  ;  and  he  determ- 
ined to  take  at  once  one  of  those  two  steps  which  were  neces- 
sary to  secure  the  advantages  gained.  With  the  prophetical 
spirit  of  genius,  he  had  perceived  that,  once  freed  to  act  in  the 
direction  which  his  interest  and  his  inclination  pointed  out, 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  already  renowned  in  arms,  would  carry 
war  into  the  heart  of  Germany,  and  that  he  would  find  a  vast 
body  of  the  German  people  ready  to  make  an  eflbrt,  under  his 
banner,  to  cast  off  the  galling  yoke  of  the  emperor.  Two 
great  efforts  were  dictated  by  sound  policy  in  these  oirciim" 


WALLEN8TEIN.  SOI 

stances ;  first,  to  give  Gustavus  Adolphus  sufficient  occupa- 
tion in  other  lands,  in  order  to  render  the  execution  of  his  de- 
signs upon  Germany  impossible  ;  and,  secondly,  by  kindness, 
lenity,  and  justice,  to  reconcile  the  German  people  to  a  burden 
which  pressed  heavily  upon  them,  but  might  be  greatly  light- 
ened. 

One  of  these  efforts  Wallenstein  made,  though  not  with 
that  energy  and  greatness  of  conception  which  characterized 
almost  all  his  designs.     The  other  he  neglected  entirely. 

The  King  of  Sweden  was  at  war  with  the  King  of  Poland ; 
the  Swedish  troops  were  actively  engaged  in  Poland  ;  their 
success,  and  the  exhausted  state  of  his  own  resources,  had  in- 
clined Sigismund,  king  of  that  country,  to  listen  to  temis  of 
accommodation.  It  would  have  been  well  worth  the  cost 
and  the  exertion  to  send  thirty  thousand  imperial  troops  to 
the  aid  of  the  King  of  Poland,  and  to  support  him  by  a  month- 
ly subsidy,  in  carrying  on  the  war ;  yes,  even  if  the  crown 
jewels  had  been  pawned  to  supply  the  means.  The  theater 
of  hostilities  would  thus  have  been  removed  from  Germany. 
If  Gustavus  was  defeated,  he  would  be  powerless  against  the 
empire  ;  if  he  were  successful,  success  would  be  purchased  by 
exertions  which  would  exhaust  his  resources  for  many  a  year. 

Wallenstein,  however,  only  sent  ten  thousand  men  under 
Count  Arnheim,  an  officer  not  well  disposed  to  the  task. 
Nothing  was  effected  ;  and  Arnheim  himself  retired  from  the 
imperial  service.  We  know  not  whether  this  niggardly  assist- 
ance was  thus  hmited  by  the  will  of  Wallenstein,  or  by  that  of 
his  imperial  master ;  but  it  is  clear  that  a  great  error  was 
committed  in  this  case.  In  the  other,  a  greater  was  com- 
mitted still.  Exhausted  Germany  was  panting  for  repose  : 
kindness,  even  moderation  would  have  been  received  as  the 
greatest  of  boons ;  but  a  grasping  and  bigoted  monarch  had 
no  notion  of  holding  his  oppressive  hand.  An  edict  was  pass- 
ed, named  the  Edict  of  Restitution,  by  which  the  Protestants 
were  called  upon  to  restore  immediately  all  the  Catholic 
Church  property  which  had  been  sequestered  since  the  year 
1555.  A  new  interpretation  was  put  upon  the  treaty  of 
Passau ;  and  it  was  boldly  announced  that  all  Protestants 
were  liable  to  be  driven  out  of  the  states  of  Catholic  princes. 
Wallenstein  had  ever  shown  great  toleration  in  his  own  do- 
mains ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that,  if  he  did  not  encour- 
age the  emperor  in  this  most  iniquitous  proceeding,  he  aided 
to  carry  out  the  edict  in  the  most  barbarous  and  relentless 
manner. 


302  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

It  would  be  as  tedious  as  painful  to  dwell  upon  all  the 
cruelties  which  were  committed,  and  the  oppression  that  was 
exercised,  by  the  imperial  commissioners ;  but  a  spirit  of  re- 
sistance was  aroused  in  the  hearts  of  the  German  people, 
which  only  waited  for  opportunity  to  display  itself  Nor  was 
it  alone  against  the  emperor  that  wrath  and  indignation  was 
excited.  Wallenstein  drew  down  upon  his  head  even  more 
dangerous  enmity  than  that  which  sprung  up  against  Ferdi- 
nand. He  ruled  in  Germany  with  almost  despotic  sway  ;  for 
the  emperor  himself  seemed  at  this  time  little  more  than  a 
tool  in  his  hands.  His  manners  were  unpopular,  stern,  re- 
served, and  gloomy.  He  shared  not  in  the  revels  of  his  hght- 
hearted  and  licentious  officers.  He  communicated  to  none 
his  plans  and  purposes ;  and,  liberal  to  excess  of  his  wealth, 
he  was  cold  and  unbending  in  his  demeanor.  His  haughty 
pride,  too,  scattered  offense  abroad  throughout  all  classes. 
Princes  were  kept  waiting  in  his  ante-chamber  ;  and  all  peti- 
tions and  remonstrances  against  his  stern  decrees  were  treat- 
ed with  the  mortifying  scorn  which  adds  insult  to  injury.  The 
magnificence  of  his  train,  the  splendor  of  his  household,  the 
luxury  and  profusion  that  spread  every  where  around  him, 
afforded  continual  sources  of  envy  and  jealous  hate  to  the  an- 
cient nobility  of  the  empire.  The  Protestants  throughout  the 
land  were  his  avowed  and  implacable  enemies  ;  and  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  princes  viewed  him  with  fear  and  suspicion. 
Maximilian  of  Bavaria,  whose  star  had  waned  under  the 
growing  luster  of  Wallenstein's  renown,  who  had  lost  that 
authority  in  the  empire  which  he  knew  to  be  due  to  his  serv- 
ices and  his  genius,  solely  by  the  rise  and  influence  of  Wallen- 
stein, and  whose  ambitious  designs  of  ruling  Germany  through 
an  emperor  dependent  upon  him  for  power,  had  been  frustrated 
entirely  by  the  genius  which  placed  the  imperial  throne  upon 
a  firm  and  independent  basis,  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  hos- 
tility to  the  Duke  of  Friedland ;  and  while  the  faults  and  of- 
fenses of  the  great  general  raised  up  a  multitude  of  enemies 
against  him,  his  services,  his  achievements,  and  his  virtues 
added  to  the  number  of  his  open  and  secret  foes.  His  efibrts 
to  restore  discipline,  to  check  corruption,  and  to  put  an  end  to 
excessive  exactions,  proved  as  dangerous  to  him  as  his  pride 
or  his  ambition.  Though  the  soldiery  still  generally  loved 
him,  their  officers  hated  the  hand  that  put  a  limit  to  the  op- 
pression by  which  they  throve,  and  would  fain  have  resisted 
its  power.  The  Italian  mercenaries,  especially,  were  enraged 
by  the  puuiBhmonts  with  which  he  visited  their  crimes,  and 


WALLENSTEIN.  803 

the  restraints  which  he  placed  upon  their  licentiousness  ;  and 
we  find  the  name  by  which  he  was  generally  known  among 
them  was  "  the  tyrant."  We  may  well  suppose,  too,  that  in 
cases  where  officers,  independent  of  him,  and  having  great 
claims  upon  the  empire  for  services  performed,  w^re  forced  to 
apply  to  him,  in  order  to  obtain  preferment  and  reward,  it  was 
done  with  a  bitter  heart.  Wallensteia,  it  is  true,  exerted  him- 
self generously  to  forward  their  views ;  but  we  can  hardly 
imagine  Tilly  and  Pappenheim  soliciting  the  interest  of  Wal- 
lenstein,  without  a  degree  of  mortification  which  must  have 
produced  some  enmity  toward  the  man. 

While  these  feelings  were  gathering  strength  in  Germany  ; 
while  Wallenstein,  with  no  friends,  though  many  supporters, 
saw  himself  an  object  of  jealousy  or  hatred  to  the  leaders  of 
every  party  throughout  the  empire  ;  and  while  the  suppressed 
but  cherished  indignation  of  all  Protestant  Germany  was  pre- 
paring for  the  emperor  a  dreadful  day  of  reckoning,  events 
were  taking  place  in  other  countries  which  hurried  on  rapidly 
the  dangers  that  Wallenstein  had  foreseen. 

In  France,  a  weak  king,  and  a  powerful,  politic,  and  re- 
lentless minister,  appeared  in  undissembled  hostility  to  the 
house  of  Austria ;  and  the  famous  Cardinal  de  Richelieu 
busied  himself,  successfully,  to  raise  up  enemies  to  the  Ger- 
man branch  of  that  family,  while  he  employed  the  forces  of 
France,  either  in  contending  with  the  Spanish  branch,  or  in 
suppressing  every  vestige  of  domestic  liberty. 

In  Poland,  Sigismund,  after  vainly  contending  with  Gus- 
tavus  AdolphuSj  and  receiving  an  inefficient  aid  from  Ger- 
many, was  anxious  to  conclude  the  disastrous  war  with  Swe- 
den. Richelieu  interfered  ;  Oxenstiern  negotiated  on  the  part 
of  Gustavus  ;  and  a  truce  of  six  years  was  concluded  in  Au- 
gust, 1629,  by  which  the  veteran  and  victorious  Swedish  troops 
were  set  free  to  act  in  any  other  direction.  A  great  part  of 
Livonia  was  virtually  ceded  to  Gustavus,  together  with  the 
towns  and  territories  of  Memel,  Braunsberg  and  Elbingen, 
and  the  strong  fortress  of  Pillau. 

At  the  same  time,  Richelieu  impressed  upon  the  mind  of 
Gustavus  the  honor,  the  advantage,  and  the  necessity  of  re- 
ducing the  immense  power  of  the  emperor,  and  delivering  the 
Protestant  states  of  Germany  from  the  oppression  under  which 
they  groaned.  Many  an  eager  application  had  been  made  to 
the  Swedish  monarch  by  the  princes  of  those  Protestant  states , 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  now  those  applications  were 
secretly  renewed.     I  find  it  stated  that  "  the  Hanse  towns 


n»  T- 


304  DARK   SCENES    OF   HISTORY. 

joined  in  the  petition,  and  offered  the  resources  of  their  wealth, 
that  the  states  of  Holland  warmly  supported  the  application 
of  the  Protestant  League,  and  that  many  of  the  Catholic 
princes  themselves  intimated  that  they  would  either  remain 
neuter,  or  aid  the  King  of  Sweden  to  suppress  the  overgrown 
authority  of  a  tyrannical  prince." 

Confident  in  his  own  powers  of  mind  and  warUke  skill,  sup- 
ported by  the  love  and  admiration  of  his  people,  relying  on 
the  valor  and  discipline  of  his  troops,  and  foreseeing  all  the 
mighty  combinations  which  were  certain  to  take  place  in  his 
favor,  Gustavus  hesitated  but  little.  He  consulted  with  his 
ministers,  indeed  heard  and  answered  every  objection  that 
could  be  raised ;  and  then  apphed  to  the  Senate  at  Stock- 
holm to  insure  that  his  plans  were  approved,  and  that  his 
efforts  would  be  seconded  by  his  people.  His  enterprise  met 
with  the  most  enthusiastic  approbation ;  and  then  succeeded 
all  the  bustle  of  active  preparation.  Funds,  armies,  and  mag- 
azines were  provided ;  and  alliances  were  proposed  and  con- 
cluded with  every  power  which  feared  or  hated  the  house  of 
Austria. 

While  this  storm  was  gathering  in  the  North,  while  the 
towns  of  Sweden  were  bristling  with  arms,  and  her  ports  filled 
with  ships,  Ferdinand  was  driven  or  persuaded  to  an  act  the 
most  fatal  to  himself,  and  the  most  favorable  to  the  King  of 
Sweden.  A  Diet  was  summoned  to  meet  at  Ratisbon  early 
in  the  year  1630  ;  and  the  chief  object  of  the  emperor  in 
taking  a  step  so  dangerous  to  the  power  he  had  really  ac- 
quired, and  to  the  projects  so  boldly  put  forth  in  his  name, 
seems  to  have  been  to  cause  his  son  to  be  elected  King  of  the 
Romans,  tbtls  acknowledging  the  authority  of  those  whom  he 
had  menaced  and  trampled  on. 

The  Diet  assembled,  and  princes  flocked  thither  from  all 
parts  of  Germany ;  but  not  lar  off,  at  Memingen,  lay  Wal- 
lenstein,  at  the  head  of  an  army  of  a  hundred  thousand  men. 
The  army  was  ready  to  obey  his  lightest  word.  He  professed 
himself  the  devoted  servant  of  the  emperor,  and  neither  by 
deeds  nor  words  acknowledged  any  other  power  in  Germany. 
But  if  Ferdinand  had  any  idea  of  overawing  the  Diet,  the 
scheme  was  frustrated  by  the  skill  with  which  its  proceedings 
were  arranged.  Its  first  act  was  one  in  which  the  great  ma- 
jority of  its  members  were  certain  to  agree,  and  which  at  once 
struck  from  beneath  the  hand  of  the  emperor  the  staff  whereon 
he  leaned.  After  that  it  was  easy  to  decide  upon  minor  ques- 
tions, and  to  decide  unbiased. 


WALLENSTEIN.  30» 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  Diet  is  assembled  at  Ratisbon,  and  princes  and  prel- 
ates crowd  the  hall.  Forms  and  ceremonies  are  gone  through ; 
it  is  announced  that  the  object  of  the  meeting  is  to  settle  all 
undecided  questions  in  the  empire,  and  to  establish,  on  a  firm 
basis,  a  permanent  and  honorable  peace.  Those  very  words 
instantly  raised  the  images  of  a  thousand  most  difficult  ques- 
tions ;  but  shortly  after,  the  name  of  the  archduke,  King  of 
Hungary,  is  proposed  to  the  Diet  for  election  as  King  of  the 
Romans,  and  a  scene  of  indescribable  confusion  and  mur- 
muring takes  place.  A  voice  demands  that,  before  any  such 
election  is  considered,  the  complaints  of  the  people  of  Germany 
against  the  imperial  armies  shall  be  heard ;  and  then  a  perfect 
storm  of  accusations  pours  down.  Every  sort  of  tyranny  and 
oppression,  every  sort  of  cruelty  and  exaction,  every  sort  of  li- 
centiousness and  vice  is  attributed  to  the  emperor's  troops ; 
but  the  hatred  and  the  charges  all  concentrate  themselves 
upon  the  head  of  the  great  commander  of  the  imperial  forces ; 
and  there  is  a  shout  for  his  instant  dismissal. 

Each  elector  has  some  accusation  to  bring,  either  personally 
against  himself  or  against  the  soldiers  under  his  command. 
His  pride,  his  haughtiness,  his  ambition,  the  immense  power 
and  the  immense  wealth  he  has  obtained,  the  contributions 
which  have  been  levied  under  his  authority,  the  sharp  an- 
swers he  has  given  to  complaints,  the  contempt  with  which 
he  has  treated  remonstrances  from  magistrates,  states,  and 
princes,  the  precision  with  which  he  has  executed  the  em- 
peror's decrees,  the  very  punishments  which  he  has  inflicted 
upon  his  offending  soldiery,  are  all  mingled  together  in  a  chaos 
of  accusation.  Then,  again,  the  licentiousness  of  his  soldiery 
and  the  crimes  of  his  officers  are  all  charged  to  his  account. 
Not  an  insolent  trooper,  not  a  peculating  commissary,  not  a 
lawless  captain  of  free  companions,  but  has  done  something 
for  which  Wallenstein  is  made  answerable ;  and  the  whole 
charge  is  summed  up  by  pointing  him  out  as  Odmm  ac 
nausea  generis  humani. 

Ts  there  none  in  all  that  great  assembly  to  speak  a  word 


806  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

for  the  absent  general  ?  none  to  point  out  that  to  his  sword 
the  emperor  owed  his  salvation  in  his  greatest  need  ?  none 
to  show  that  he  was  called  upon,  in  the  space  of  a  few  short 
weeks,  to  bring  an  army  into  the  field  capable  of  checking  the 
King  of  Denmark  with  sixty  thousand  men  ?  none  to  declare 
that  he  was  obliged  to  take  such  men  as  offered  ?  none  to 
prove  that  he  had  striven  to  correct  their  vices  and  restrain, 
their  exactions  ?  Not  one  I  Every  man  present  was  his  en- 
emy ;  and  the  cry  was  universal,  "  He  must  be  dismissed." 

The  Elector  of  Bavaria  led  the  way,  jealous  of  Wallen- 
stein's  fame,  his  wealth,  and  influence  ;  and  every  other  fol- 
lowed, moved  mostly  by  private  passion  rather  than  by  public 
spirit ;.  but  all  joined  in  the  one  cry,  and  in  seeking  the  one 
object.     It  is  only  wonderful  they  did  not  demand  his  head. 

But  what  will  the  emperor  do,  for  he  it  is  who  must  de- 
cide ?  If  he  be  as  bold  as  he  is  ambitious,  he  may  order  the 
army  to  march  rapidly  upon  Ratisbon,  and  crush  all  opposi- 
tion at  one  blow.  If  he  be  as  resolute  as  he  is  enterprising, 
he  may  refuse  to  listen  to  clamor  or  to  yield  to  charges  un- 
proved. If  he  be  a  sincere  friend,  a  grateful  sovereign,  or  a 
wise  prince,  he  will  certainly  support  the  servant  who  came 
to  his  aid  in  the  hour  of  need,  and  who  was  never  more  need- 
ed than  at  the  present  moment.  Is  there  none  in  all  his  court 
to  represent  to  him  that  on  the  decision  of  this  moment  hangs 
not  only  the  safety  of  the  future,  but  the  maintenance  of  the 
advantageous  position  which  Wallenstein  has  obtained  for 
him  ;  that,  having  committed  the  false  step  of  calhng  the  Diet 
together,  it  behooves  him  to  resist  its  attempt  to  dictate  who 
shall  be  his  general  ? 

There  were  some  in  the  court  who  boldly  took  this  course, 
and  advanced  many  another  argument  to  show  that  it  would 
be  most  injudicious  as  well  as  ungrateful  to  yield  to  the  de- 
mand of  the  Diet.  Their  arguments  should  have  had  the 
more  weight,  as  it  was  known  that  no  love  of  Wallenstein  in- 
fluenced the  speakers. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  had  obtain- 
ed habitual  command  over  the  mind  of  the  emperor.  Spain, 
too,  was  decidedly  opposed  to  the  Duke  of  Friedland.  His 
genius  was  of  too  commanding  a  character,  his  perceptions  too 
clear,  his  schemes  too  vast,  not  to  excite  suspicion,  distrust, 
and  animosity  in  the  weak,  cunning,  and  boastful  court  of 
Madrid.  Many  of  the  imperial  counselors  had  long  been  ar- 
rayed against  Wallenstein  :  the  lands  of  some  of  them  had 
been  plundered  by  his  troops ;  to  some  of  them  he  had  given 


WALLEN8TEIN.  SOT 

offense  by  his  bold  language  and  resolute  opposition  ;  and  the 
balance  of  influence  and  authority  was  decidedly  against  him 
in  the  imperial  court. 

Still  Ferdinand  hesitated,  and  affected  much"  surprise  at 
the  charges  brought  against  his  general  and  his  armies.  He 
yielded  in  the  end,  however ;  and  it  is  said,  upon  very  good 
authority,  that  his  ruinous  decision  was  brought  about  by  the 
arts  of  the  same  skillful  politician  who  had  conjured  up  the 
storm  which  now  menaced  the  empire  from  the  north.  Riche- 
heu  had  sent  an  embassador  to  Ratisbon,  upon  the  idle  pre- 
tense of  seeking,  by  every  means,  to  terminate  the  dissensions 
which  had  arisen  between  France  and  Spain  regarding  the 
duchy  of  Mantua.  In  the  train  of  the  embassador  came  the 
well-known  intriguing  friar.  Father  Joseph,  the  most  unscru- 
pulous and  cunning  of  the  cardinal's  emissaries ;  and  he,  we  are 
assured,  found  means  to  persuade  the  emperor  that,  by  yield- 
ing to  the  demand  of  the  electors  and  removing  Walleristein 
for  a  time,  he  might  obtain  the  election  of  the  King  of  Hun- 
gary, and  then  reinstate  the  Duke  of  Friedland  in  his  com- 
mand as  soon  as  popular  anger  had  subsided. 

However  that  might  be,  Ferdinand,  as  I  have  said,  yielded, 
openly  expressing  his  regret  at  the  step  he  was  about  to  take, 
and  the  apprehensions  which  he  entertained  for  the  conse- 
quences. Count  Questenberg  and  another  nobleman,  who  liad 
been  long  on  intimate  terms  with  Wallenstein,  were  sent  to 
the  camp  to  notify  to  him  his  removal  from  command,  and  to 
soften  the  disgrace  by  assuring  him  of  the  emperor's  grati- 
tude and  affection.  Men,  however,  looked  anxiously  for  the 
result ;  for  the  peculiar  character,  or,  rather,  quality  of  Wal- 
lenstein's  ambition  had  been  misunderstood,  and  many  antici- 
pated open  resistance  on  the  part  of  a  general  at  the  head  of 
a  hundred  thousand  men.  Some  even  feared  for  the  personal 
safety  of  Questenberg  and  his  companion,  and  it  was  clearly 
with  some  hesitation  they  themselves  undertook  the  danger- 
ous task. 

Surrounded  by  a  few  officers,  conversmg,  easily  and  quietly, 
though  with  laconic  brevity,  in  one  of  the  halls  of  Memingen, 
stood  a  tall,  spare,  but  powerful  man,  with  high  features,  and 
small,  dark,  piercing  eyes.  He  was  dressed  with  exceeding 
splendor,  and  on  his  left  hand  stood  an  open  cabinet  of  exqui- 
site workmanship.  His  brow  was  grave,  and  his  face  had 
habitually  a  stern  expression,  but,  if  any  thing,  the  look  was 
less  gloomy  than  ordinary.  The  few  words  he  spoke  Were 
even  cheerful,  and  they  referred  to  calm  and  happy  subjects. 


308        DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

A  few  minutfes  after  he  had  entered  the  hall,  a  chamber- 
lain, in  magnificent  attire,  threw  open  the  door,  saying, 

"  Counts  Questenberg  and  Werdenberg,  your  excellency,  on 
a  mission  from  his  imperial  majesty." 

Wallenstein  bowed  his  head,  and,  preceded  by  a  troop  of 
ushers,  pages,  and  lackeys,  who  ranged  themselves  to  the  right 
and  left  as  they  entered,  appeared  the  imperial  ministers. 
Wallenstein  advanced  to  meet  them  with  a  well-satisfied  and 
cordial  expression  of  countenance  ;  and  when  Questenberg, 
after  the  ordinary  salutations,  hinted  that  he  desired  a  private 
audience,  the  Duke  of  Friedland  answered,  with  a  smile, 

"  It  is  needless,  your  excellency.  The  object  of  your  com- 
ing is  perfectly  well  known  to  me.  The  stars  have  made  me 
acquainted  with  it  long  ago ;"  and  then,  taking  from  the  open 
cabinet  an  astrological  table,  he  placed  it  belbre  the  eyes  of 
the  wondering  envoys,  saying,  "  You  will  perceive,  by  the  posi- 
tion of  the  planets,  that  the  star  of  Maximilian  of  Bavaria 
overrules  that  of  Ferdinand.  The  emperor  is  betrayed.  I 
grieve  for  him,  but  blame  him  not ;  though,  m  truth,  I  am 
sorry  he  has  given  me  up  with  so  little  resistance.  Neverthe- 
less, I  obey  him." 

This  was  his  answer  to  the  message  which  took  from  him 
his  high  command.  No  burst  of  anger,  no  words  of  reproach, 
no  pitiful  irritation  was  displayed  by  Wallenstein.  He  enter- 
tained the  envoys  with  splendor  during  their  stay,  made  them 
several  valuable  presents,  and  sent  them  back  with  a  letter  to 
the  emperor  breathing  calm  and  dignified  submission,  thank- 
ing the  sovereign  for  past  favors,  and  begging  him  to  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  all  slanderous  reports. 

Resigning  the  command  of  the  army,  which,  under  hig 
guidance,  had  performed  such  splendid  achievements,  Wallen- 
stein retired  to  his  town  and  palace  of  Gitchin,  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  administration  of  his  own  vast  domains.  Ru- 
mors were,  ofcour.se,  current  of  angry  feelings  and  evil  designs 
against  the  emperor  ;  for  men  attributed  to  Wallenstein  the 
same  passions  which  would  have  influenced  them  had  they 
been  in  his  situation.  Historians  have  not  scrupled  to  chron- 
icle as  facts  the  suspicions  of  the  time  ;  but  they  all  dissolve 
into  mere  smoke  upon  critical  examination.  All  Wallen- 
stein's  letters  show  in  every  line  the  faithful  and  obedient  sub- 
ject, as  well  as  the  hospitable  and  magnificent  prince.  Doubt- 
less he  had  a  consolation  and  a  hope  ;  for  the  sword  of  Gus- 
tavus  Adolphus  was  already  unsheathed,  and  he,  as  well  as 
others,  must  have  perceived  that  the  sword  of  Wallenstein 
must,  sooner  or  later,  be  opposed  to  it. 


WALLENSTEIN.  309 

Tilly  took  the  command  of  the  army,  supported  by  the  gal- 
lant but  cruel  Pappenheim ;  but  neither  of  these  great  officers 
seem  to  have  had  any  share  in  the  disgrace  of  Wallenstein. 
On  the  contrary,  both  continued  to  maintain  with  him  a 
friendly  correspondence  ;  and  the  admiration  with  which  two 
of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  age  evidently  regarded  him  is 
a  very  high  tribute  to  the  merits  of  the  Duke  of  Friedland. 
True  it  is,  Tilly  might  think  himself  lucky  in  escaping  accusa- 
tions similar  to  those  which  had  ruined  Wallenstein  ;  for  his 
own  forces  in  the  Palatinate  had  committed  fully  as  many 
crimes,  and  even  greater  cruelties,  than  the  army  of  Wallen- 
stein in  the  north  of  Germany.  But  Wallenstein  was  an  ob- 
ject of  jealousy  as  well  as  hatred  ;  and  his  dismissal  was  oc- 
casioned not  by  the  acts  which  his  troops  had  committed,  but 
by  the  deeds  which  he  himself  had  achieved. 

It  is  highly  to  the  honor  of  Tilly  that  upon  one  occasion, 
if  not  more,  while  he  was  commanding  the  imperial  army 
with  success,  he  warned  his  great  rival  of  the  rumors  which 
were  current  against  him,  in  order  that  he  might  be  upon  his 
guard. 

Wallenstein  treated  those  rumors  with  the  contempt  they 
merited,  while  he  felt  and  appreciated  the  honorable  conduct 
of  Tilly.  There  were  other  warnings,  however,  which,  un- 
happily, merited  greater  attention,  and  received  as  little. 
Even  in  the  very  height  of  his  mgst  successful  career,  after 
his  arms  had  laid  Germany  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  the  em- 
peror, and  the  peace  of  Liibeck  had  terminated  all  danger 
from  Danish  hostility,  intimation  reached  him  from  quarters 
the  least  liable  to  suspicion,  of  designs  upon  his  liberty,  if  not 
upon  his  life.  Slavata,  the  chancellor  of  Bohemia,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  year  1629,  ventured  to  put  him  on  his  guard,  in 
terms  which  left  it  doubtful  whether  his  own  imperial  master 
,was  not  already  playing  the  traitor  with  his  faithful  servant. 

"  I  have  be^  informed,"  he  writes  to  Wallenstein,  "  by 
several  persons  of  distinction,  that  Tilly  has  received  orders 
to  seize  your  highness  and  tlirow  you  into  prison ;  or,  if  that 
can  not  be  done,  to  send  you  out  of  the  world  in  a  summar)^ 
manner." 

Whether  this  design  was  entertained  at  so  early  a  period, 
and,  if  so,  whether  it  is  chargeable  upon  the  Bavarian  or  upon 
the  emperor,  certain  it  is,  that  Wallenstein  gave  no  heed  to 
the  tale,  and  reproved  Slavata  even  for  listening  to  it,  ex- 
pressing the  utmost  confidence  both  in  the  emperor  and  Tilly. 
Happy  had  it  been  for  him  had  his  confidence  been  extended 


310  DARK  SCExNES  OF  HISTORY. 

less  far.  Even  the  most  peaceable  demeanor,  even  the  calm- 
est domestic  employments,  even  the  most  open  display  of  trust 
and  reliance  on  his  sovereign's  honor  and  gratitude,  could  not 
shield  Wallenstein  from  hate  and  suspicion.  But  the  time 
was  rapidly  approaching  when  his  services  were  again  to  be 
required  for  the  salvation  of  the  monarchy,  and  he  was  spared 
to  confer  greater  benefits,  and  to  make  ingratitude  more  black. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

There  were  negotiations  which  failed,  and  a  Danish  me- 
diation which  was  not  successful  in  delaying  the  movements 
of  Gustavus  Adolphus  ;  and,  leaving  his  daughter  in  the  land 
which  he  was  never  more  to  see,  the  King  of  Sweden  took 
leave  of  his  Senate  with  words  which  left  a  deep  impression 
on  all  hearts.  But  few  of  those  words  will  I  repeat ;  but 
they  express  the  motives  which  roused  him  to  arms.  "  Not 
lightly,"  he  said,  *'  do  I  plunge  you  and  myself  into  this  new 
and  perilous  war.  My  witness  is  Almighty  God,  that  it  is 
not  for  pleasure  that  I  fight.  The  emperor  has  most  shame- 
fully injured  me  in  the  person  of  my  embassadors  ;  he  has  up- 
held my  enemies  and  persecuted  my  friends  and  brethren  ;  he 
has  trampled  my  religion  in  the  dust,  and  has  stretched  out 
his  hand  even  to  my  crown.  Piteously  do  the  oppressed  states 
of  Germany  call  upon  us  for  help,  and,  by  God's  will,  so  will 
we  give  it  them." 

In  the  month  of  June,  1630,  the  wind  at  length  filled  the 
sails  of  the  royal  fleet ;  and  on  the  24th  of  the  month  it  ap- 
peared ofi*  the  Isle  of  Rugen,  on  the  coast'  of  Pomerania.* 
The  king  himself  was  the  first  man  who  sprang  on  shore, 
and,  kneeling  on  the  beach,  he  offered  thanks  to  God  for  the 
safe  voyage  of  his  fleet  and  army.  This  act  of  devotion  of- 
fered, he  commenced  that  course  of  brilliant  military  opera- 
tions which  secured  the  liberty  of  Protestant  Germany. 

It  is  not  my  object  to  enter  into  the  details  of  his  short  but 
brilhant  career ;  but  some  sketch  of  the  events  must  be  given 

•  It  does  not  seem  clear  whether  Gustavus  first  landed  at  Rugen  or 
Peene  Monde,  in  Usedom.  Biit  the  matter  is  not  of  any  very  great 
cooMquooce. 


S   .. 


WALLENSTBIN.  311 

which  called  forth  Wallenstein  from  his  retirement.  The 
troops  which  follow  the  king  are  few  in  number ;  but  they 
are  veterans  disciplined  in  a  peculiar  manner,  active,  perse- 
vering, and  drilled  with  a  precision  totally  unknown  among 
the  other  armies  of  Europe.  Divested  of  much  of  the  useless 
steel,  which  encumbered  rather  than  protected  the  soldieiy 
of  the  day,  their  evolutions  are  performed  with  a  rapidity 
and  a  degree  of  accuracy  which  renders  each  regiment  equal 
to  two  of  the  enemy  ;  and  their  fair-haired  monarch,  tall,  pow- 
erful, and  chested  like  a  bull,  is  at  once  the  greatest  tactician 
and  the  stoutest  soldier  of  his  times. 

With  a  Ibrce  of  little  more  than  twenty  thousand  men,  he 
undertakes  at  once  to  establish  a  wide  base  for  after  opera- 
tions, by  making  himself  master  of  the  whole  Pomeranian 
coast.  With  the  speed  of  lightning  Wolgast  is  taken,  Camin 
surrenders,  the  Isles  of  Wollin  and  Usedom  are  cleared  of  the 
enemy,  and  the  Swedish  army  is  before  Stettin.  Bogisla 
XIV.,  duke  of  Pomerania,  is  terrified,  and  hesitates.  He 
,-would  fain  negotiate,  he  would  fain  remain  neuter. 
*f^  "  He  who  is  not  for  us  is  against  us,"  replies  Gustavus ; 
and  the  duke  is  forced  to  decide  and  ally  himself  with  the 
Swede.  Town  after  town  falls  before  the  arms  of  Sweden, 
and  from  almost  every  garrison  that  capitulated  the  army 
of  the  Swedish  monarch  was  recruited  ;  for  the  imperial  troops 
were  mostly  mercenaries  from  foreign  lands,  right  willing  to 
take  service  under  any  great  commander.  Once  incorporated, 
however,  with  the  army  of  Gustavus,  the  rigid  discipline  of 
the  Swedish  regiments  soon  changed  the  habits  of  the  men, 
and  held  them  to  their  standard. 

Every  day  fresh  bodies  of  men  came  in  to  join  Gustavus 
from  the  most  opposite  quarters.  The  fragments  of  Mans- 
feld's  army,  the  remnant  of  that  of  Christian  of  Brunswick, 
companies  which  had  served  under  the  King  of  Denmark, 
and  those  who  had  raised  Wallenstein  to  glory,  now  hastened 
to  serve  with  a  greater  than  any^  and  to  lose  their  wild  habits 
under  the  rule  of  the  Swede. 

While  Gustavus  was  fixing  himself  firmly  in  the  land, 
while  his  forces  were  increasing  every  day,  while  Damm, 
Stargard,  Camin,  Wolgast,  and  several  other  places  spoke 
the  success  of  his  arms,  the  court  of  Vienna,  less  wise  than 
Wallenstein,  laughed  scornfully  at  the  invasion,  and  called 
the  King  of  Sweden  his  Majesty  of  Snow,  declaring  that  the 
cold  of  the  north  only  kept  his  power  together,  and  that  it 
would  melt  away  as  it  approached  the  south.     Even  the 


315J  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

Protestant  Electors  seemed  to  hold  the  aid  he  brought  them 
cheap,  and,  at  all  events,  derived  not  sufficient  courage  from 
his  appearance  in  the  field  to  make  any  efibrt  against  the 
emperor. 

Very  different  was  it,  however,  with  the  people  of  the  coun- 
try where-  the  Swedes  appeared.  Gustavus  had  the  art  of 
winning  hearts  as  well  as  cities  ;  and  the  tenderness  and  con- 
sideration which  he  displayed  toward  the  districts  traversed 
by  his  armies  stood  in  bright  contrast  with  the  conduct  of  the 
imperial  generals.  Wherever  the  latter  came,  pillage,  ruin, 
desolation  spread  around  ;  and  in  Pomerania  especially  their 
ravages  were  fearful,  upon  the  pretense  of  laying  waste  the 
country  before  the  Swedes.  The  Swedish  soldiers  paid  for 
all  that  they  required ;  no  man's  property  suffered  by  their 
presence ;  nothing  was  taken  but  with  the  consent  of  the 
owner,  who  was  fully  recompensed  for  all  he  gave.  Thus,  in 
town  and  country,  the  Swedish  array  was  received  with  open 
arms ;  a  multitude  of  Pomeranians  took  service  with  Gus- 
tavus ;  and  the  states  of  the  duchy  joyfully  voted  a  contri- 
bution of  a  hundred  thousand  florins  in  aid  of  the  friendly  in- 
vaders. 

The  imperial  troops  in  Pomerania,  though  commanded  by 
a  famous  general,  Torquato  Conti,  could  effect  nothing  against 
the  Swedes.  Many  an  effort  was  made,  but  all  were  frus- 
trated, and  an  early  and  a  cutting  winter  soon  drove  Conti  to 
seek  winter  quarters  for  his  sickly  and  disorganized  forces. 
As  usual,  a  suspension  of  arms  was  proposed  for  the  winter, 
and  deputies  were  sent  to  Gustavus  to  arrange  the  terms. 
The  reply  of  the  King  of  Sweden  was  characteristic,  and  not 
at  all  satisfactory  to  the  envoys. 

"  The  Swedes,"  he  replied,  "  are  soldiers  in  winter  as  well 
as  summer  ;"  and,  leaving  the  imperial  generals  to  do  as  they 
thought  fit,  Gustavus  pursued  the  war. 

Every  step  was  marked  with  success.  The  imperial  troops 
were  sufierwl  to  enjoy  no  repose  in  their  winter  quarters ; 
Greifenhagen,  Gartz,  and  Piritz  were  taken ;  and  the  Aus- 
trian troops  were  driven  into  the  march  of  Brandenburg  with 
great  loss,  both  of  men  and  artillery.  The  passes  of  Kibnitz 
and  Damgardcn  opened  the  way  for  the  King  of  Sweden  into 
Mecklenburg  ;  and  the  duke  of  that  country,  stripped  of  his 
possessions  for  the  benefit  of  Wallenstein,  was  stirred  up  to 
take  the  field  in  order  to  recover  his  duchy ;  but  his  troops 
were  not  able  to  make  head  against  Pappenheim,  who  was 
Bent  to  oppofe  them,  and  were  soon  almost  totally  dispersed. 


WALLENSTEIN.  313 

In  the  mean  time,  the  barbarities  exercised  by  the  imperial 
forces  in  the  march  of  Brandenburg  were  a  disgrace  to  human 
nature.  The  elector  was  not  at  enmity  with  the  emperor  ; 
but  his  country  was  treated  with  more  cruelty  than  was  ever 
inflicted  before  upon  a  conquered  territory  ;  and,  weak  and 
vacillating  as  he  was,  the  elector  was  forced  to  issue  a  proc- 
lamation, commanding  his  people  to  put  to  death  every  Aus- 

*  trian  soldier  found  plundering.  Still,  he  did  not  venture  open- 
ly to  take  part  with  the  King  of  Sweden,  who,  adhering  to 
his  plan  of  securing  Pomerania  as  a  base  Ibr  future  operations, 
proceeded  to  reduce  Demmin  and  Colberg,  and  to  prepare  for 
the  siege  of  Frankfort  on  the  Oder. 

The  success  of  the  Swedish  monarch  bore  better  fruit  than 
the  mere  capture  of  towns.  France  was  encouraged  to  throw 
off  the  mask,  and  openly- to  ally  herself  with  the  Protestant 
King  of  Sweden.  A  subsidy  of  four  hundred  thousand  crowns 
annually  was  promised  on  her  part ;  and  Gustavus  undertook 
to  keep  thirty-five  thousand  men  in  the  field.  The  weak 
princes  of  Germany  still  hesitated  to  fight  against  their  ene- 
my, and  to  support  their  deliverer  ;  they  consulted  and  nego- 
tiated at  Leipsic,  when  they  should  have  been  acting,  and 
were  only  the  more  severely  treated  by  the  emperor  in  conse- 
quence. But  the  open  alliance  of  France  threw  immense 
moral  weight  into  the  scale  of  Gustavus. 

It  is  true  that,  at  this  very  time,  a  negotiation  was  in  prog- 
ress, which  might  have  snatched  from  the  King  of  Sweden 
the  fruit  of  all  his  efforts.  Wallenstein,  in  his  retirement  at 
Gitchin,  still  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  game  that  was 
playing,  and  conceived  a  bold  move,  which,  had  it  been  made 
decidedly  and  at  once,  must  have  rendered  the  emperor  the 
winner.  He  knew  something  of  the  King  of  Denmark,  for 
he  had  both  fought  him  and  negotiated  with  him.  He  was 
aware  that  Christian  regarded  Gustavus  with  jealousy,  if  not 
enmity  ;  and  he  proposed  that  an  offensive  and  defensive  alli- 
ance should  be  concluded  between  the  emperor  and  the  King 
of  Denmark,  which  would  place  the  fleets  and  armies  of  tlie 
Danes  at  the  back  of  Gustavus,  while  the  imperial  forces  en- 
countered him  in  front.  This  sagacious  design  he  communi- 
cated to  the  court  of  Vienna,  and,  fully  authorized  by  the  em- 
peror, conducted  for  some  time  secret  negotiations  with  the 

-King  of  Denmark.  The  latter,'  of  course,  required  a  bribe  ; 
and  the  cabinet  of  Vienna  hesitated  so  long  as  to  what  terri- 
tory should  be  given  up  to  the  Dane,  that  the  time  for  action 
passed  away. 

O 


314  DARK  SCExNES  OF  HISTORY. 

In  the  mean  time,  Tilly  busied  himself  in  collecting  the 
scattered  forces  of  the  empire,  which  had  been  sadly  shattered 
by  the  dismissal  of  Wallenstein.  As  soon  as  this  was  efiect- 
ed,  he  marched  toward  Pomerania,  at  the  head  of  a  very 
large  army.  He  found  Gustavus  too  strongly  posted,  how- 
ever, to  justify  an  attack  ;  and  leaving  eight  thousand  men  at 
Frankfort  on  the  Oder,  to  secure  his  communications,  be 
marched  in  a  westerly  direction  to  Magdeburg,  taking  New 
Brandenburg  by  the  way.  In  the  latter  town,^  the  ferocious 
soldiers  of  Tilly  gave  no  quarter,  and  a  frightful  scene  of  mas- 
sacre took  place  ;  but,  as  the  imperial  general  marched  on- 
ward toward  Magdeburg,  Gustavus  Adolphus,  quitting  his 
strong  position  at  Schwedt,  made  a  rapid  advance  upon 
Frankfort  on  the  Oder.  The  place  was  invested,  as  if  for 
regular  siege  ;  but  the  weakness  of  the  defenses,  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  rapid  success,  encouraged  Gustavus  to  attempt  a 
general  assault.  The  town  was  carried  by  storm  ;  and  the 
garrison  received  nothing  from  the  Swedes  but  what  they 
called  "  New  Brandenburg  quarter." 

Tilly  had  made  a  movement  in  retreat,  to  relieve  the  town 
of  Frankfort,  as  soon  as  he  heard  it  was  invested ;  but,  on  re- 
ceiving intelligence  of  its  fall,  he  resumed  his  march  upon 
Magdeburg,  and  commenced  the  siege  of  that  great  and  im- 
portant town.  Its  fate  is  well  known  to  all  readers  of  history. 
It  was  taken  by  a  stratagem,  on  the  10th  of  May,  and  the 
most  frightful  cruelties  were  perpetrated  with  the  tacit  con- 
sent of  Tilly.  Pappenheim  reveled  in  blood  ;  every  crime 
that  can  stain  human  nature  was  committed  ;  women  as  well 
as  men,  infants  as  well  as  their  parents,  were  butchered  ; 
the  town  was  set  on  fire  in  various  places ;  and  one  of  the 
finest  cities  in  Germany,  with  the  exception  of  two  churches 
and  a  few  small  houses,  was  reduced  to  ashes. 

This,  however,  was  the  last  success  of  Tilly,  who  boasted 
of  having  fought  six-and-thirty  battles  without  ever  suffering 
a  defeat.  A  greater  master  of  the  art  of  war  was  in  the  field, 
and  the  bloody  and  victorious  career  of  the  Waloon  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close. 

Gustavus  was  loudly  blamed  for  not  marching  to  the  relief 
of  Magdeburg  ;  and  so  much  effect  had  this  censure  upon  his 
mind,  that  he  thought  himself  obliged  to  put  forth  a  public 
justification.  He  showed  that  he  had  immediately  commenc- 
ed his  march  to  the  assistance  of  the  Magdeburgers,  but  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  advance  against  an  enemy  like 
.Tilly  without  securing  a  road  for  retreat,  should  it  be  neces- 


f 


WALLENSTEIN.  316 

'sary,  and  the  means  of  obtaining  supplies  for  his  army.  The 
friendship  of  the  Electors  of  Brandenburg  and  Saxony  was 
more  than  doubtful.  The  former  had  even  opened  his  gates 
to  the  Austrians,  and  shut  them  against  the  Swedes.  Gus- 
tavus  applied  to  both  for  some  security  that  his  army  would 
be  supplied  and  his  retreat  unmolested ;  but  they  hesitated 
and  temporized,  till  Magdeburg  had  fallen.  Gustavus  might 
probably  have  added,  had  it  been  politic  to  do  so,  that  his 
army  was  not  sufficient  to  encounter  that  of  Tilly  in  the  field 
without  withdrawing  garrisons  from  many  places  that  had 
been  taken,  which  would  have  been  too  tedious  an  operation 
to  afford  even  a  chance  of  relieving  Magdeburg. 

The  decision,  to  which  neither  the  arguments  of  Gustavus 
nor  the  necessities  of  their  position  had  been  able  to  bring  the 
princes  of  Lower  Germany,  was  forced  upon  them  by  the  in- 
sane exultation  of  the  court  of  Vienna  at  the  fall  of  Magde- 
burg, and  by  the  cruelties  of  the  imperial  commanders.  Hesse 
was  plundered  and  oppressed ;  and  the  Landgrave  of  Cassel 
was  threatened  with  all  the  vengeance  of  the  imperial  arms, 
unless  he  consented  to  receive  Austrian  troops  into  his  land, 
to  give  up  his  fortresses  to  the  emperor,  and  to  raise  imme- 
diate contributions  for  carrying  on  the  war.  The  landgrave 
boldly  refused  ;  and  Tilly  was  marching  to  ravage  his  coun- 
try, when  the  movements  of  Gustavus  forced  the  Waloon  to 
alter  his  plan.  The  King  of  Sweden  perceived  that  it  was 
necessary  to  secure  some  strong  places  in  Brandenburg,  and 
he  demanded  possession  of  the  town  of  Spandau  from  the  vac- 
illating elector.  George  William  would  still  have  temporiz- 
ed ;  but  Gustavus  would  permit  of  no  further  procrastination. 
He  appeared  before  Berlin  itself,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  and 
peremptorily  demanded  that  the  elector  should  declare  which 
side  he  would  take  in  the  war. 

"  I  will  not  be  worse  treated,"  he  said,  "  than  the  imperial 
general.  All  I  demand  of  the  elector  is  security  and  bread 
lor  my  troops ;  and  this  he  must  either  give,  or  see  his  capi- 
tal taken  and  plundered." 

Such  language,  and  the  Swedish  artillery  pointed  upon  Ber- 
lin, soon  brought  the  elector's  hesitation  to  an  end.  Spandau 
was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Gustavus  ;  and  a  treaty  was  sign- 
ed, by  which  the  gates  of  the  important  town  of  Custrin  were 
to  be  opened,  at  all  times,  to  the  troops  of  Sweden. 

These  great  points  accomplished,  Gustavus  retired  into 
Pomerania,  where  he  was  received  with  the  warmest  expres- 
sions of  joy  by  a  liberated  people.     Shortly  after,  a  re-enforce- 


316  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

ment  of  eight  thousand  Swedes  and  six  thousand  English 
auxiharies  gave  him  means  of  prosecuting  the  war  with  great- 
er vigor ;  and  he  once  more  appeared  on  the  hanks  of  the 
Elbe,  near  the  spot  where  that  river  is  joined  by  the  Havel. 
His  approach  alarmed  Pappenheim,  who  sent  in  haste  to  call 
Tilly  to  his  assistance  ;  and  the  imperial  general,  abandoning 
his  designs  upon  Cassel,  marched  rapidly  to  Wolmirstadt. 

The  army  of  Gustavus  was  still  infinitely  inferior  to  the 
united  forces  of  the  Austrians.  But  the  king  took  up  a  com- 
manding position  at  Werben,  and  intrenched  himself  so  strong- 
ly, with  earth-works  of  great  extent,  that  his  camp  became 
almost  impregnable.  He  did  not,  it  is  true,  restrict  himself 
entirely  to  this  position,  for  we  find  that  the  Swedes  cut  off 
three  regiments  of  Austrians,  posted  at  too  great  a  distance 
from  head-quarters.  This  loss  seems  to  have  stimulated  Tilly 
to  make  an  attack  upon  Gustavus's  intrenchments  at  Werben, 
from  which  the  king  would  not  suffer  himself  to  be  drawn  to 
risk  a  general  battle.  All  the  effbrts  of  the  Austrians,  how- 
ever, were  ineffectual ;  and  repulsed  at  every  point  with  loss, 
they  were  obliged  to  retreat  to  Wolmirstadt,  an  immense 
multitude  deserting  by  the  way. 

Shortly  after,  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse  Cassel,  whose  bold 
reply  to  Tilly  had  done  so  much  honor  to  his  name,  appeared 
in  the  camp  of  the  Swedes ;  the  first  reigning  prince  who,  of 
his  own  free  will,  declared  for  the  liberty  of  his  country.  The 
King  of  Sweden  received  him  joyl'ully ;  and  a  treaty  of  alli- 
ance was  signed,  which  was  honorably  kept  by  both  parties 
until  the  peace  of  Westphalia. 

In  the  mean  while,  however,  the  imperial  court  seemed  re- 
solved to  drive  all  the  princes  of  Lower  Germany  into  the 
arms  of  Sweden.  Tilly  was  ordered  to  bring  the  neutrality 
of  the  Elector  of  Saxony  to  an  end,  by  requiring  hira  to  re- 
ceive the  imperial  troops,  to  carry  the  Edict  of  Restitution 
into  execution,  and  either  to  disband  his  own  forces,  or  to 
unite  them  with  the  imperial  army  against  the  King  of 
Sweden.  Saxony  was  powerful,  populous,  and  wealthy,  and 
Gustavus  Adolphus  was  near  at  hand.  Tilly  was  not  ig- 
norant of  the  danger  of  the  step  he  was  forced  to  take,  nor  of 
the  high  qualities  of  the  enemy  who  lay  at  Werben,  watch- 
ing his  movements.  He  had  already,  at  llatisbon,  pointed 
out  the  immense  abilities  and  the  great  power  of  Gustavus, 
and  had  ended  by  saying,  *'  This  is  a  player,  against  whom 
to  lose  nothing  is  to  win  much." 

The  court  of  Vienna  paid  no  attention  to  his  remonstrances, 


WALLENSTEIN.  317 

however,  and  its  commands  were  conveyed  by  a  messenger 
to  the  double-dealing  Elector  of  Saxony.  Indignation  over- 
came doubt  and  timidity.  The  elector  rejected  the  terms  of- 
fered, and  sent  off  an  embassador  to  treat  with  the  King  of 
Sweden.  Tilly  immediately  entered  his  territories,  with  an 
army  re-enforced  by  five-and-twenty  thousand  veteran  soldiers. 
Blood  and  pillage  spread  over  the  whole  land  ;  and  more 
than  a  hundred  villages  were  burned  to  the  ground,  while 
the  embassador  of  the  elector  was  treating  with  the  King  of 
Sweden, 

Gustavus  received  the  propositions  of  Saxony  with  great 
coldness.  He  pointed  out  to  Count  Arnheifn,  who  had  now 
taken  service  under  the  elector,  and  who  was  the  person  sent 
to  treat  with  him,  that  he  could  put  no  trust  in  the  good  faith 
of  John  George,  especially  while  his  ministers  were  known  to 
be  in  Austrian  pay.  When  pressed  to  explain  what  would 
satisfy  him,  he  demanded  that  the  fortress  of  Wittenberg 
should  be  given  up  to  him,  that  the  elector's  eldest  son  should 
be  placed  in  his  hands  as  a  hostage,  that  his  troops  should  re- 
ceive three  months'  pay  at  once,  and  that  the  traitors  in  the 
Saxon  ministry  should  be  delivered  to  him. 

These  seemed  hard  conditions  to  Arnheim  ;  and,  retiring 
from  the  Swedish  camp,  he  carried,  what  he  thought,  the  bad 
tidings  to  his  master.  But  the  elector  now  knew  that  there 
was  no  safety  for  him  but  in  the  alliance  of  Sweden  ;  and  he 
exclaimed,  "Not  only  W^ittenberg,  but  Torgau  and  all  Sax- 
ony, shall  be  open  to  him.  He  shall  have  my  whole  family 
as  hostages  ;  and,  if  that  is  not  enough,  myself  also.  Hasten 
back  to  him,  and  say  that  I  am  ready  to  give  him  up  any 
traitors  he  will  name,  and  at  once  to  pay  the  subsidy  that  is 
demanded." 

Gustavus,  however,  had  only  rendered  the  conditions  ex- 
cessive in  order  to  try  the  good  faith  of  the  elector ;  and  he 
immediately  reduced  his  demands,  on  that  prince's  frank  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  necessities.  A  treaty  was  instantly 
signed  ;  the  Saxon  army  was  close  to  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  ; 
Gustavus  made  not  the  slightest  delay,  but  crossed  the  river 
at  Wittenberg,  and  effected  his  junction  with  the  forces  of  the 
elector. 

Tilly  had  made  no  movement  to  impede  this  operation,  but 
had  proceeded  to  besiege  Leipsic,  which  fell  after  a  very  brief 
resistance.  The  capitulation  was  signed  in  the  house  of  a 
grave-digger ;  and  it  was  now  high  time  that  Tilly  should  pre- 
pare for  battle.      Gustavus,  with  the  united  Swedish  and 


318  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

Saxon  array,  was  in  full  march  upon  Leipsic.  At  Torgau  a 
council  of  war  was  held,  to  determine  what  was  to  be  done  ; 
but  the  opinion  of  Gustavus  was  decidedly  in  favor  of  risk- 
ing a  general  battle,  and  it  prevailed. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  7th  of  September,  1631,  the 
two  hostile  armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other  ;  and  very  soon 
after,  the  engagement  began.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the 
events  of  that  great  day,  when  was  fought  the  battle  of  Brei- 
tenfeldt,  or,  as  it  is  more  commonly  called,  of  Leipsic.  Suf- 
fice it  that  the  right  wing  of  the  allied  army,  composed  almost 
altogether  of  Saxon  troops,  was  completely  routed  by  the  Aus- 
trians,  and  fled.  But  victory  often  did  more  harm  to  the  im- 
perial armies  than  defeat.  Plunder  and  pursuit  occupied  a 
great  number  of  Tilly's  men ;  the  Swedish  forces  were  not 
only  unbroken,  but  making  progress  rapidly  against  the  ene- 
my ;  the.  brilliant  charges  of  Pappenheim,  and  the  cool  and 
resolute  efforts  of  Tilly,  produced  no  effect ;  a  number  of  Aus- 
trian guns  were  taken  and  turned  against  the  flank  of  their 
army  ;  and,  after  the  hardest  fought  field  of  the  whole  war, 
the  imperial  troops  were  routed  with  great  slaughter.  Gus- 
tavus remained  the  master  of  the  field.  The  total  loss  of 
Tilly  is  estimated  at  ten  thousand  men  ;  he  himself,  severely 
wounded,  barely  escaped  with  life  ;  the  fiery  and  resolute  Pap- 
penheim was  forced  to  fly  among  the  last ;  and  a  hundred 
standards,  thirty  pieces  of  artillery,  three  thousand  prisoners, 
and  the  whole  baggage  of  the  imperial  army,  attested  the 
complete  success  of  the  King  of  Sweden.  The  army  of 
Sweden  lost  only  seven  hundred  men  in  killed  and  wounded  ; 
but  the  defeated  Saxons  counted  two  thousand  missing ;  and 
the  whole  glory  of  the  field  remained  with  Gustavus.  At 
the  moment  when  success  was  most  needed  to  decide  the 
wavering,  encourage  the  faint-hearted,  and  strengthen  the 
brave  and  determined  in  perseverance,  victory  showed  itself 
on  the  side  of  Gustavus  ;  and  the  battle  of  Leipsic  was  worth 
the  whole  of  his  other  achievements. 

As  soon  as  the  news  was  known  and  believed  at  Vienna, 
consternation  spread  through  the  imperial  court ;  and  every 
one  expected  to  see  the  victorious  Swede  under  the  walls  of 
the  capital.  But  Gustavus  determined  to  follow  another 
course ;  and  his  policy  has  been  severely  criticised,  not  alto- 
gether without  justice  ;  for  much  was  to  be  said  in  favor  of 
an  advance  upon  Vieima,  although  the  failure  of  many  other 
commanders  might  do  something  to  deter  from  such  a  step. 
The  great  battle  which  had  been  gained,  the  dispersion  of  the 


WALLENSTEIN.  319 

imperial  troops,  the  constcr«ati(Hi  which  existed  in  the  capital, 
and  the  vast  accession  of  strength  which  was  obtained  by  the 
King  of  Swedea,  justified  perhaps  the  boldest  measures.  But 
the  plan  of  Gustavus  was  in  itself  bold  and  energetic,  and 
was  framed  with  a  view  to  great  political  results,  which  could 
not  be  obtained  by  an  advance  upon  Vienna.  The  Protestant 
states  of  the  <5entral  and  western  parts  of  Germany  had  been 
stricken  down,  and  cast  into  a  condition  of  apathetic  despair 
by  the  long  triumph  of  the  imperial  arms.  A  single  victory, 
in  a  remote  part  of  G  erraany,  was  not  sufficient  to  raise  them 
up  from  the  moral  stupor  into  which  they  had  fallen.  It  re- 
quired the  presence  of  the  victor  among  them  :  it  required 
efibrts  and  achievements  imder  their  own  eyes,  to  restore  to 
them  vigor,  and  activity,  and  warlike  strength.  It  might 
enter  into  ti^  calculations  of  the  conqueror  of  Tilly,  that  his 
small  army  was  but  the  nucleus  of  an  avalanche  which  must 
be  gathered  round  it  as  it  rolled  on  to  overwhelm  the  imperial 
power  in  the  heart  of  the  Austrian  dominions,  and  that  the 
-central  and  western  parts  of  Germany  aflbrded  the  field  where 
the  greatest  accession  of  strength  was  to  be  gained.  He  re- 
solved, therefore,  to  send  the  Saxon  army  into  Bohemia,  where 
it  seemed  that  much  was  to  be  gained  and  little  to  be  lost, 
and  to  march  in  person  across  the  whole  empire,  direct  toward 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine. 

His  progress  was  one  continued  triumph ;  and  the  effect 
of  his  appearance  among  the  Protestant  princes,  who  had  so 
long  tamely  submitted  to  oppression,  was  marvelous.  Soldiers 
flocked  to  his  standard  from  all  quarters  ;  nobles  and  electors 
unsheathed  the  awords  which  had  seemed  glued  to  their  scab- 
bards ;  and  few  places,  even  belonging  to  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics, ventured  to  resist.  Wurtzburg,  Hanau,  Wertheim,  were 
taken,  the  two  first  by  surprise,  the  latter  by  storm ;  and 
Frankfort  itself  received  the  conqueror. 

The  array  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine,  which  made  a  faint 
effort  to  impede  the  progress  of  the  Swedes  in  Franconia,  dis- 
persed like  snow  under  the  sun  ;  and,  approaching  the  Rhine 
at  Oppenheim,  Gustavus  forced  the  passage  of  the  river  in 
presence  of  the  Spanish  troops  collected  on  the  left  bank. 
Oppenheim  was  taken  ;  and  the  strong  city  of  Mayence  fell 
after  a  short  siege.  Worms,  Spires,  Landau,  and  a  number 
of  other  less  important  places  were  captured  by  the  Swedish 
monarch ;  and  almost  all  that  Tilly,  and  Spinola,  and  Wal- 
lenstein  had  gained  were  now  lost  to  the  emperor.  Mayence 
remained  the  head-quarters  of  Gustavus  for  some  weeks  ;  but 


320  DARK8CENES0F  HISTORY. 

early  in  the  spring  he  made  a  dash  at  Bavaria,  appeared  be- 
fore Donauwerth,  took  it  by  a  coup-de-raain,  and  passed  the 
Danube. 

After  the  defeat  of  Tilley  at  Leipsic,  all  eyes  turned  to 
Wallenstein.  Pappenheim  himself  declared  that  they  had 
no  hope  but  in  him ;  and  the  emperor  would  doubtless  have 
sought  his  assistance  immediately,  but  that  a  strong  party  in 
the  court  and  cabinet  of  Vienna,  and  a  still  stronger  party  in 
the  Catholic  League,  headed  by  Maximilian  of  Bavaria,  could 
not  lay  aside  their  jealous  suspicions,  and  opposed  his  recall  to 
power  even  to  the  last. 

In  the  mean  time,  while  Gustavus  was  pursuing  his  con- 
quering course,  and  the  Saxons  were  penetrating  into  Bohe- 
mia, and  subduing  the  whole  land,  Tilly  gathered  together 
the  fragments  of  his  army.  Great  exertions,  too,  were  made 
by  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  to  raise  sufficient  forces  to  check 
the  advance  of  the  Swedes,  and  prevent  their  junction  with 
the  Saxons  under  the  walls  of  Vienna. 

Tilly,  once  more  able  to  appear  in  the  field,  again  displayed 
his  energy  and  skill,  and  took  up  one  of  the  strongest  positions 
in  Germany,  behind  the  River  Lech,  near  the  spot  where  it 
flows  into  the  Danube  at  Rain.  The  frontiers  of  Bavaria 
were  thus  defended ;  the  position  seemed  impregnable ;  and 
Maximilian  himself  took  part  in  the  operations  of  the  Waloon 
general,  hoping  to  see  the  storm  of  war  turned  away  from  his 
own  electorate.  Seventy-two  pieces  of  artillery  defended  the 
camp  ;  the  river  was  deep  and  rapid  ;  the  banks  not  very  ac- 
cessible, and  the  army  well  supplied. 

Nothing,  however,  could  witlistand  the  genius  and  impet- 
uosity of  Gustavus.  His  own  officers  attempted  to  dissuade 
him  from  attacking  the  imperial  forces ;  but  the  King  of 
Sweden  knew  the  courage  of  his  troops  and  his  own  resources. 
A  wooden  bridge  was  thrown  over,  the  river  with  extraordi- 
nary rapidity,  a  cavalry  ford  was  found  higher  up  the  stream; 
the  Swedish  foot  passed  the  bridge  under  a  tremendous  fire, 
and  the  horse  crossed  by  the  ford.  The  right  bank  of  the 
Lech  was  gained  ;  and  the  forces  of  Gustavus  began  to  form, 
while  the  auxiliary  troops  were  passing.  Tilly  saw  that  every 
thing  must  be  hazarded  at  that  critical  moment,  and  a  gen- 
eral attack  was  immediately  ordered.  But  the  Swedish  ar- 
tillery had  already  opened  their  fire ;  and  the  ball  of  a  small 
piece  called  a  falconet  struck  the  imperial  general  in  the  knee, 
crushing  the  bone.  Nearly  at  the  same  time.  General  Al- 
trmger,  the  second  in  command,  was  also  wounded  and  car- 


WALLENSTEIN..  321 

ried  from  the  field ;  and  the  imperialists,  deprived  of  their 
generals,  fled  in  confusion.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria,  with  a 
small  body  of  horse,  did  all  that  was  possible  to  rally  the 
routed  troops,  and  succeeded  in  leading  a  considerable  body 
of  men  to  Ingoldstadt  during  the  night.  Thither,  too,  was 
Tilley  carried  ;  but  on  the  following  day  the  brave  old  Wa- 
loon  died,  recommending,  with  his  expiring  breath,  that  In- 
goldstadt should  be  defended  to  the  last. 

Nothing  could  stop  Gustavus ;  but,  pursuing  his  career 
along  the  Lech,  he  made  himself  master  of  Augsburg  and 
Landshut,  and  then  dashed  on  upon  Munich,  which  received 
him  with  prayers  and  supplications.  No  cruelties  were  exer- 
cised by  the  Swedish  monarch.  The  rich,  indeed,  were  forced 
to  contribute  somewhat  largely  to  the  support  of  his  army ; 
but  considerable  sums  were  distributed  among  the  poor  of  the 
city  by  the  generous  conqueror. 

Nothing  now  remained  to  the  emperor  but  his  hereditary 
dominions.  His  power  was  at  an  end  on  the  Rhine,  on  the 
Elbe,  on  the  Oder.  The  Saxons^  were  in  possession  of  Bo- 
hemia ;  the  Swedes  occupied  Bavaria ;  he  had  no  army  in 
the  field,  no  general  to  command,  no  money  to  raise  forces. 
The  misuse  of  power  had  plunged  him  from  the  highest  point 
of  authority  to  the  lowest  depth  of  despair  ;^  and  its  conse- 
quences now  forced  him  to  degradation.  He  had  to  apply  to 
one  whom  his  folly  had  abandoned,  and  whom  his  ingratitude 
might  well  have  disgusted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

In  peaceful  arts,  and  calm  and  tranquil  pleasures,  passed 
the  days  of  Wallenstein  after  his  removal  from  the  command 
of  the  imperial  array.  Arts  and  sciences  received  encourage- 
ment at  his  hand  ;  his  people  were  improved  and  benefited ; 
and  his  mighty  genius  seemed  to  repose  in  peace  upon  all  the 
softer  things  of  life.  I  have  shown,  however,  that  he  took  a 
deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  his  imperial  master,  and  that 
he  proposed  plans  for  his  sovereign's  benefit,  which  nothing 
deprived  of  success  but  the  niggardly  and  bigoted  spirit  of 

Oij 


322       DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

the  man  he  attempted  to  serve.  Thus  was  frustrated  the 
projected  treaty  with  Denmark.  Had  it  been  carried  out, 
Gustavus  would  never  have  appeared  in  Munich,  nor  Arnheim 
have  taken  Prague. 

Though  still  hesitating  to  call  Wallenstein  to  command, 
the  emperor  besought  him  to  negotiate  with  the  Saxon  gen- 
eral, very  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Leipsic.  Arnheim  had 
been  one  of  his  favorite  officers,  and  Wallenstem  readily  un- 
dertook the  task.  A  personal  interview  took  place  between 
himself  and  the  Saxon  commander  at  the  Castle  of  Kaunitz* 
It  lasted  only  for  a  few  hours ;  but  it  would  seem,  from  one 
of  Wallenstein's  letters,  the  concessions  he  was  authorized  to 
make,  on  the  part  of  the  emperor,  were  not  such  as  his  own 
judgment  showed  him  were  necessary,  nor  such  as  a  victori- 
ous enemy  was  likely  to  accept.  The  negotiations  were  pro- 
tracted for  some  time  without  effect ;  and  the  victorious  ca- 
reer of  Gustavus  every  day  rendered  the  difficulty  of  treating 
more  great.  The  defeat  and  death  of  Tilly,  on  the  Lech,  and 
the  complete  prostration  of  Bavaria  before  the  King  of  Swe- 
den, at  length  overpowered  the  opposition  of  Wallenstein's 
enemies  at  the  court  of  Vienna,  and  he  was  applied  to  as  a 
last  resource. 

It  was  a  bitter  compliment,  and  Wallenstein  refused  to 
have  any  thing  to  do  with  the  military  affairs  of  the  empire. 
He  was  ill,  he  said,  suffering  severely,  and  could  not  under- 
take such  a  responsible  task. 

Persons  have  supposed  that  his  reluctance  was  affected ; 
but  well  might  he  pause  and  hesitate — well  might  he  even 
refuse.  He  knew  the  man  he  had  to  deal  with  ;  he  knew, 
by  this  time,  the  sovereign  whom  he  was  called  to  serve  ;  he 
knew  that  courtiers  and  ministers  would  be  ready  at  any  mo- 
ment to  betray  him,  and  the  emperor  to  abandon  him  when 
no  longer  wanted. 

Moreover,  what  was  he  called  upon  to  undertake  ?  To  re- 
pel from  the  Austrian  dominions  the  greatest  general  in  Eu- 
rope, at  the  head  of  a  victorious  array,  without  having  a  single 
regiment  to  bring  into  the  field  against  him.  The  imperial 
troops  were  nowhere.  Most  of  the  districts  from  which  they 
might  have  been  raised  were  in  possession  of  the  enemy  ;  and 
even  Hungary  could  hardly  maintain  itself  against  the  Turks 
and  Transylvanians.  Wallenstein  was  called  upon  once  more 
to  create  an  army  as  well  as  to  command  it ;  but  the  position 
^of  affairs  was  very  different  now  from  that  which  it  had  been 
on  a  former  occasion ;  for  then  Tilly  was  in  the  field  at  the 


WALLENSTEIN.  ^ 

head  of  large  forces,  ready  to  co-operate  and  to  assist :  now 
Tilly  was  dead,  and  his  forces  scattered  over  the  country. 

At  length  came  a  letter,  in  the  emperor's  own  hand,  pray- 
ing, in  abject  terms,  for  assistance.  He  besought  his  faithful 
servant  not  to  abandon  him  in  the  hour  of  adversity.  To 
this  entreaty  Wallcnstein  yielded  ;  but,  even  now,  a  weak 
prince  and  subtile  enemies  sought  to  limit  his  power,  and  put 
a  check  upon  his  actions.  They  proposed  that  the  archduke, 
king  of  Hungary,  should  share  in  the  command  ;  and  the  very 
suggestion  excited  a  burst  of  indignation,  which  mingled  a 
blasphemous  boast  with  a  firm  refusal. 

The  proposal  was  not  pressed  ;  and,  in  a  conference  with 
the  Duke  of  Eggenberg,  at  Znaim,  Wallenstein  agreed  to  as- 
sume the  command  of  the  imperial  troops  for  three  months, 
boldly  promising  within  that  time  to  have  from  forty  to  fifty 
thousand  men  in  the  field.  He  would  not  consent  to  accept 
the  command  for  any  longer  period  ;  nor  would  he  receive  a 
salary ;  but  a  fourth  duchy  was  conferred  upon  him  ;  and 
Wallenstein  once  more  raised  his  standard  with  the  same 
magical  effect  as  before.  Armed  men  seemed  to  start  from 
the  earth  to  do  him  service  ;  officers  petitioned  for  commis- 
sions to  raise  troops  ;  some  brought  in  a  company,  some  a  reg- 
iment, some  a  troop  of  horse.  Arms  and  stores  were  provid- 
ed ;  his  own  resources  were  taxed  to  the  very  uttermast.  The 
emperor  did  nothing ;  Wallenstein  did  every  thing ;  and  in 
little  more  than  ten  weeks  forty  thousand  experienced  soldiers 
were  ready  to  take  the  field  in  opposition  to  the  Swede  and 
the  Saxon.  But  Wallenstein  refused  to  command  them. 
The  three  months  for  which  he  had  stipulated  came  to  an 
end.  The  promised  service  was  amply  performed ;  and  he 
expressed  his  determination  to  retire  again  into  private  hfe. 

Illness  and  poverty  were  the  reasons  assigned.  We  know 
that  he  was  ill,  and  may  well  judge  that  he  was  poor  ;  for 
the  resources  of  all  his  duchies  could  hardly  supply  the  means 
of  raising  and  equipping  such  a  force.  But  the  emperor  feared 
that  the  army,  in  which  his  safety  lay,  would  melt  away  as 
rapidly  as  it  had  arisen,  if  Wallenstein  were  suffered  to  leave 
it ;  and  messenger  after  mes-senger,  of  every  rank  and  charac- 
ter, were  sent  by  the  sovereign  to  the  subject,  begging  him 
to  retain  his  command. 

He  was  entreated  to  name  his  own  terms,  and  he  did  so. 
Perhaps  he  hoped,  by  obtaining  inordinate  power,  to  guard 
himself  against  the  eminent  peril  in  which  he  was  likely  to 
be  placed.     He  demanded  the  supreme  command,  and  eijtire 


324        DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

disposal  of  all  the  Austrian  and  Spanish  troops  in  Germany. 
Every  military  office,  rewards,  punishments,  pardons,  were  all 
to  be  decided  directly  or  indirectly  by  him.  Neither  the  em- 
peror nor  his  son  were  to  exercise  any  military  authority,  nor 
even  to  appear  with  the  army.  A  principahty  was  to  be  his 
immediate  reward ;  and,  in  the  expectation  of  conquest,  he 
demanded  a  conquered  province.  Various  other  stipulations 
were  added,  the  vainest,  but  the  most  important  of  which 
was,  that  he  was  not  to  be  removed  from  command  without 
due  notice. 

These  conditions  have  been  represented  as  proofs  of  his  am- 
bition and  his  inordinate  love  of  power.  But  Wallenstein 
undertook  to  fight  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  no  authority  could 
be  too  great  to  enable  him  to  do  so  successfully.  However 
that  might  be,  the  emperor  subscribed  to  the  conditions  with- 
out hesitation,  and  from  that  moment  the  war  assumed  a  to- 
tally different  character. 

The  very  intelhgence  that  Wallenstein  was  in  the  field  had 
an  instant  effect  upon  every  party  concerned.  Protestant 
Germany  heard  the  news  with  fear  and  anxiety;  the  Cath- 
olic League  revived  ;  new  hope  sprang  up  with  the  emperor 
and  his  allies ;  and  Gustavus  himself  at  once  laid  aside  the 
daring  impetuosity  which  had  characterized  his  later  move- 
ments, and  prepared  to  meet  the  Duke  of  Friedlaud  with  that 
careful  prudence  which  the  presence  of  such  an  enemy  re- 
quired. 

Wallenstein  determined  to  try  the  first  energies  of  his  new 
army  against  a  less  formidable  foe  than  Gustavus,  and  com- 
bining policy  with  his  military  operations,  to  detach,  il'  possi- 
ble, the  Saxons  from  their  alliance  with  the  Swede,  both  by 
negotiations  and  by  arms.  He  knew  that,  if  this  could  be 
accomplished,  the  King  of  Sweden  must  necessarily  abandon 
the  central  parts  of  Germany,  to  fall  back  upon  his  resources 
in  the  north  ;  and  during  the  whole  time  occupied  by  the 
collection  of  his  forces,  the  negotiations  with  Arnheim  had 
been  carried  on  under  his  direction.  The  conduct  of  the  lat- 
ter general  is  not  explained.  Although  the  Elector  of  Sax- 
ony steadily  refused,  at  this  period,  to  enter  into  a  separate 
peace  without  the  concurrence  of  Gustavus,  and  although  the 
King  of  Sweden  eagerly  and  impatiently  urged  the  command- 
er of  the  Saxons  to  vigilance  and  activity,  Arnheim  sufiered 
Wallenstein  to  levy  a  powerful  army  under  his  very  eyes, 
and  was  unprepared  to  offer  effectual  resistance  when  the  im- 
perial forces  were  ready  for  the  field.     Against  him  the  first 


WALLENSTEIN.  825 

operations  of  the  Duke  of  Friedland  were  directed.  March- 
ing with  the  utmost  rapidity  upon  Prague,  Wallenstein  ap- 
peared before  that  city  on  the  4th  of  May,  and  Arnheim  re- 
treated with  unseemly  haste.  The  garrison  was  small  and 
inefficient ;  the  Capuchin  friars  within  the  walls  aided  more 
than  the  guns  of  Wallenstein  to  efiect  a  breach  ;  the  imperisxl 
troops  mounted  to  the  assault,  and  the  city  was  carried  by 
storm.  The  Saxon  troops  in  the  castle  capitulated  imme- 
diately ;  and  Wallenstein  led  his  victorious  troops  on  through 
Bohemia,  reducing  without  difficulty  every  place  which  op- 
posed him. 

Saxony  was  now  open  to  his  arms ;  and,  in  pursuit  of  his 
political  views,  Wallenstein  was  eager  to  carry  the  war  in 
that  direction,  certain  of  soon  withdrawing  the  King  of  Swe- 
den from  the  scene  of  his  late  triumphs  without  striking  a 
blow  directly  at  himself  But  the  strongly  expressed  wishes 
of  the  emperor,  and  the  entreaties  of  the  Elector  of  Bavaria, 
induced  him  to  abandon  his  well-conceived  plan,  and  to  turn 
his  arms  against  Gustavus  himself  He  required,  however, 
that  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  should  join  him  with  the  remnant 
of  his  forces,  and  place  himself  under  his  command ;  and 
when  Maximilian  submitted  to  this  humiliation,  and  effected 
his  junction  with  the  imperial  general  at  Egra,  Wallenstein 
perhaps  marked  his  triumph  over  his  bitterest  foe  and  calum- 
niator with  somewhat  too  ostentatious  satisfaction.  They 
promised  in  writing,  indeed,  to  lay  aside  all  enmity,  and  act 
for  the  future  with  cordiality  and  good  faith  ;  but  the  only 
bond  between  them  was  necessity  ;  and  Wallenstein' s  genius 
soon  delivered  Maximilian  from  that  tie. 

Numbers  were  now  on  the  side  of  the  house  of  Austria. 
Wallenstein  was  at  the  head  of  sixty  thousand  men,  and  Gus- 
tavus knew  that  skill  was  not  wanting.  He  at  once  felt  that, 
opposed  to  such  a  general  and  such  an  army,  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  maintain  himself  in  Bavaria,  «r  to  make  any  forward 
movement  with  success ;  and  as  soon  as  he  found  that  Wal- 
lenstein was  advancing  toward  the  Upper  Palatinate,  he  de- 
termined to  take  up  such  a  position  as  would  at  once  cover 
the  newly-emancipated  principalities  on  the  Rhine,  and  keep 
open  his  communications  with  the  north.  Nuremberg  was 
fixed  upon  for  this  object,  and  thither  Gustavus  retreated,  and 
intrenched  himself  in  the  most  formidable  manner  round  the 
town. 

That  city  had  opened  its  gates  to  the  Swedes  with  joy,  at 
the  time  of  the  monarch's  first  successes.     It  had  wavered, 


.*•• 


326  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

however,  when  Wallcnsteiii  had  so  suddenly  raised  up  the 
imperial  power,  and  had  sent  deputies  to  make  submission 
and  bespeak  clemency.  But  now  the  presence  of  Gustavus 
seemed  to  restore  confidence ;  the  magistrates  exerted  them- 
selves energetically  to  assist  him  in  his  operations,  and  laid 
up  all  sorts  of  stores  to  provide  against  the  day  of  danger. 
The  whole  town  was  surrounded  with  the  most  extensive 
earth-worl^  that  had  ever  been  thrown  up  in  a  modern  war- 
fare ;  bridges  were  cast  across  the  river ;  and  three  hundred 
pieces  of  artillery  defended  the  town  and  the  Swedish  camp 
without  the  walls.  All  this  was  effected  with  extraordinary 
rapidity  ;  and  when  Wallenstein  arrived  within  sight  of  Nu- 
remberg the  Swedish  position  was  impregnable. 

Wallenstein' s  military  genius  now  showed  itself  in  a  light 
in  which  it  had  never  before  been  displayed.  He  was  pressed 
to  attack  the  enemy  ;  but  he  steadily  refused,  saying  that  bat- 
tles enough  had  been  fought  already,  and  he  must  now  try 
another  method.  He  accordingly  took  up  a  position  about 
five  miles  from  Nuremberg,  upon  a  range  of  wooded  hills,  with 
a  small  stream  in  front  of  his  camp.  Intrenchments  were 
thrown  up  ;  redoubts  were  erected  ;  and  every  approach  was 
furnished  with  strong  defenses.  The  right  was  protected  by 
marshy  ground,  the  front  by  the  steep  banks  of  the  Kednitz ; 
and  two  conspicuous  hills  were  inclosed  within  his  lines,  and 
carefully  fortified.  In  this  position  to  the  southwest  of  Nu- 
remberg, he  commanded  many  of  the  roads  by  which  the  city 
received  supplies  ;  and  his  light  troops  were  easily  spread  over 
the  country,  incessantly  harassing  the  foraging  parties  of 
Gustavus,  and  cutting  off  convoys  of  provisions  from  his  camp. 
To  starve  his  enemy  out  of  his  lines  was  Wallenstein's  de- 
termination ;  and  he  adhered  to  it  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts 
of  Gustavus,  and  of  urgent  remonstrances  from  the  rash  and 
impetuous  officers  of  the  imperial  court.  Numerous  skirm- 
ishes took  place,  in  some  of  which  Gustavus  commanded  in 
person  ;  and  the  loss  of  a  great  magazine  at  Friendstadt  at 
one  time  reduced  the  army  of  Wallenstein  itself  to  a  very  great 
strait  for  want  of  provisions. 

Still  the  Duke  of  Friedland  adhered  to  his  plan  ;  and  it  be- 
came apparent  to  Gustavus  that  he  must  either  soon  force 
Wallenstein  to  abandon  his  position,  or  decamp  himself  from 
Nuremberg.  His  forces  had  been  greatly  increased  by  the 
arrival  of  his  favorite  minister,  Oxenstiern,  with  a  body  of 
thirty-six  thousand  men,  which  had  been  scattered  over  the 
various  conquests  of  Gustavus,  and  collected  by  the  chancellor 


WALLENSTBIN.  327 

to  support  his  great  master.  It  is  necessary,  however,  to  re- 
mark, that  the  apparent  fault  of  bringing  so  many  jfresh 
mouths  into  a  camp  where  famine  was  already  felt,  was  less 
so  in  reality  than  appearance.  The  order  for  these  troops  to 
join  him  had  been  given  by  Gustavus  before  he  was  aware 
of,  or  could  divine,  Wallenstein's  plan  ;  and  the  eager  impet- 
uosity which  that  great  general  had  shown-  in  his  previous 
campaigns  rendered  it  highly  probable  that  he  would  attempt 
some  operation  against  which  the  utmost  strength  of  the 
Swedish  army  would  be  required.  At  length,  after  great  suf- 
fering, Gustavus,  with  his  army  thus  re-enforced,  determined 
to  attack  Wallenstein  in  his  lines,  and,  erecting  batteries  as 
near  as  possible,  he  kept  up  a  furious  cannonade  upon  the  im- 
perial camp  during  one  whole  day.  This  produced  no  effect 
whatever,  either  upon  Wallenstein's  lines  or  his  determina- 
tion ;  and  on  the  following  day,  the  23d  of  August,  Gustavus 
crossed  the  Rednitz  with  his  whole  army,  and  appeared  on 
the  left  flank  of  the  imperial  position.  A  general  attack  took 
place  on  the  24th  ;  but  Wallenstein's  camp  had  been  rendered 
impregnable,  and  the  columns  of  the  Swedes  were  repulsed  at 
all  points.  Wallenstein  was  every  where  in  the  hottest  of 
the  fire,  exposing  his  person  to  the  greatest  dangers,  and  prov- 
ing to  his  soldiery  that  his  determination  not  to  quit  his  lines 
proceeded  from  no  want  of  personal  courage.  After  the  re- 
treat of  the  Swedes,  Wallenstein  distributed  large  sums  of 
money  among  the  wounded  officers  and  soldiers,  which  must 
have  been  drawn  from  his  own  private  resources.  Many  oth- 
er acts  of  liberality,  especially  toward  prisoners  taken  from 
the  enemy,  are  mentioned  at  this  time  :  and  some  negotia- 
tions for  peace  succeeded,  but  were  without  effect. 

For  eleven  weeks  the  two  greatest  and  most  powerful  ar- 
mies which  had  appeared  in  modern  Europe  remained,  like 
dark  thunder-clouds,  in  presence  of  each  other  ;  but,  at  length, 
having  lost  twelve  thousand  men  by  disease,  famine,  and  the 
sword,  and  exhausted  the  whole  supplies  of  Nuremberg  and 
the  neighboring  country,  Gustavus  Adolphus  broke  up  his 
camp,  threw  five  thousand  men  into  Nuremberg  for  its  de- 
fense, and,  with  drums  beating  and  colors  flying,  marched 
past  the  face  of  Wallenstein's  position. 

Still  that  great  general  would  not  be  tempted  to  attack  the 
Swedish  army  in  its  retreat.  His  cavalry  he  had  been  obliged 
to  place  in  distant  quarters,  for  want  of  forage  near  at  hand  ; 
and,  even  had  his  whole  force  been  present  on  the  field,  Gus- 
tavus's  army,  re-enforced  by  Oxenstiern,  was  hardly  inferior  in 


328  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

point  of  numbers,  and  much  superior  in  point  of  discipline  to 
that  of  the  imperialists.  Pappenheim  also,  on  whom  Wal- 
lenstein  greatly  relied,  was  at  a  distance  ;  and  with  the  best 
sort  of  courage,  moral  courage,  the  Duke  of  Friedland  bore  all 
taunts  and  reproaches,  rather  than  put  to  the  hazard  of  a  sin- 
gle battle,  in  unfavorable  circumstances,  the  fate  of  the  Ger- 
man empire.  Had  Gustavus  been  defeated,  he  had  immense 
resources  to  fall  back  upon.  Had  Wallenstein  been  defeated, 
the  last  stake  of  the  emperor  was  played  and  lost. 

If  any  thing  was  wanting  to  the  justification  of  Wallen- 
stein, the  result  of  the  battle  of  Lutzen  afforded  the  strongest 
proof  of  the  superiority  of  the  Swedish  troops  of  Gustavus. 

The  King  of  Sweden  took  his  way  at  once  from  Nurem- 
burg  to  Neustadt ;  and  thence,  having  dispatched  Duke  Ber- 
nard, of  Weimar,  to  Wurzburg,  he  himself  pushed  on,  with 
the  main  body  of  his  forces,  into  Bavaria.  The  imperial 
army  also  separated  :  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  hastened  to  de- 
fend his  dominions  ;  and  Wallenstein,  sternly  refusing  to  aban- 
don his  own  judicious  plans  for  the  purpose  of  protecting  the 
electorate,  pushed  forward,  with  the  forces  which  he  himself 
had  raised,  into  the  heart  of  Saxony,  resolved  to  prevent  the 
junction  of  the  Saxons  and  the  Swedes.  To  effect  this  ob- 
ject, he  peremptorily  recalled  Pappenheim  from  the  Lower 
Rhine,  and  commanded  General  Altringer  also  to  lead  all  the 
Austrian  forces  from  Bavaria  into  Saxony,  leaving  Maximilian 
to  his  own  resources. 

Before  the  arrival  of  either,  Wallenstein  had  taken  Leipsic. 
and,  establishing  his  head-quarters  in  that  city,  forbade  all 
plundering  in  the  Saxon  territories,*  on  pain  of  death.  It 
was  evidently  the  desire  of  Wallenstein,  partly  by  force,  part- 
ly by  gentleness,  to  detach  the  weak  and  vicious  John  George, 
elector  of  Saxony,  from  his  alliance  with  Sweden  ;  and  the  at- 
tainment of  this  object  seemed  so  probable,  after  the  capture 
of  Leipsic,  that  Gustavus  was  forced  to  abandon  the  brilliant 
career  just  opening  before  him  in  Bavaria  and  Austria,  and 
hasten  to  encourage  and  support  the  Elector  of  Saxony.  This 
sudden  determination  took  Wallenstein  by  surprise  ;  and  he 
was  on  his  march  to  Torgau,  in  the  hope  of  striking  a  decisive 
blow  at  the  Saxon  army,  when  he  received  inteUigence  that 
Gustavus  was  advancing  rapidly  against  him. 

The  King  of  Sweden  had  anived  at  Naumburg,  a  very 
short  distance  from  Leipsic,  ere  Wallenstein  heard  of  his  ap- 

*  Schiller  states  the  exact  reverse  ;  but  Wullenstein's  dispatches  are 
extant ;  and  even  the  Croats  are  tlircotcned  with  death  if  they  plunder. 


WALLENSTEIN.  329 

proach  ;  but  his  resolution  was  instantly  taken.  To  prevent 
the  junction  of  the  Saxons  and  the  Swedes  was  the  great  and 
final  object ;  but  to  crush  the  army  of  Gustavus  himself,  in 
the  attempt  to  effect  that  junction,  was  well  worth  any  risk. 
The  Swedish  forces  at  Naumburg  were  under  twenty-five 
thousand  men.  The  imperial  army  at  Wallenstein's  disposal 
amounted  to  forty  thousand ;  and  now  Wallenstein  resolved 
to  fight  a  general  battle,  which  he  had  so  carefully  avoided  at 
Nuremberg.  Instantly  abandoning  his  march  to  Torgau,  he 
advanced  with  extraordinary  rapidity  to  Weissenfels ;  but  the 
Swede  had  been  as  prompt  in  his  precautions  as  Wallenstein 
in  his  march.  He  was  as  strongly  intrenched  as  at  Werben  ; 
and  to  attack  him  in  his  position  was  impossible. 

The  Duke  of  Friedland  now  committed  the  greatest  error 
of  his  military  career.  On  what  was  done  at  this  moment, 
the  fate  of  the  war  depended.  Wallenstein  ti-usted  the  de- 
cision to  a  council  of  war ;  and,  though  that  decision  was  de- 
void of  even  common  sense,  he  confirmed  it.  He  was  in 
presence  of  the  most  active  and  enterprising  general  of  the 
age,  one  whose  successes  had  been  obtained,  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, by  watching  the  opportunities  afforded  by  his  enemies  and 
never  aflbrding  any  himself  Nevertheless,  the  council,  in 
their  wisdom,  decided  that  it  was  the  King  of  Sweden's  in- 
tention to  remain  intrenched  at  Naumburg,  and,  therefore, 
that  it  would  be  better  for  the  imperial  army  to  take  up  win- 
ter-quarters, in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  the  sudden  re- 
union of  the  forces  practicable,  while  Pappenheim,  at  the  head 
of  two  thousand  horse,  should  return  to  the  banks  of  the 
Rhine. 

To  this  arrangement  Wallenstein  consented,  placed  his 
troops  in  cantonments,  and  not  only  sent  Pappenheim  toward 
the  Rhine,  but  ordered  him  to  make  an  attack  upon  Halle,  in 
whicii  there  was  a  Swedish  garrison,  as  he  went,  giving  him 
six  regiments  of  cavalry  and  six  of  infantry  for  that  purpose. 
Wallenstein  himself  fixed  his  head-quarters  at  Lutzen,  with 
a  mere  handful  of  troops. 

Nothing  could  be  further  from  the  thoughts  of  the  King  of 
Sweden  than  the  intentions  which  the  imperial  officers  at- 
tributed to  him  ;  and  while  the  arrangements  which  they 
recommended  were  in  course  of  execution,  he  suddenly  broke 
up  his  camp  at  Naumburg,  and  marched  toward  Pegau,  evi- 
dently with  the  intention  of  slipping  past  the  left  of  the  im- 
perialists, and  effecting  his  junction  with  the  Saxons  at  Dres- 
den.    He  commenced  his  march  before  daybreak  on  the  5th 


330  DARK   SCE;^ES   OF   HISTORY. 

of  November ;  but  ere.  he  had  advanced  many  miles,  some 
prisoners  and  some  intercepted  letters  were  brought  in,  which 
showed  him  the  terrible  error  that  Wallenstein  had  com- 
mitted. The  moment  for  striking  a  decisive  blow  seemed  to 
have  arrived,  and  not  an  instant  was  lost  ere  Gustavus  hast- 
ened to  take  advantage  of  it.  He  found  that  Pappenheim 
was  already  on  his  march  toward  the  Rhine,  with  a  large  di- 
vision of  the  imperial  forces  ;  and  he  resolved  at  once  to  rush 
upon  Wallenstein,  and  destroy  him  before  he  could  gather  his 
troops  together. 

If  the  Duke  of  Friedland  had  committed  a  great  error,  of 
which  there  can  be  no  doubt,  brilliant  and  noble  were  his  ef- 
forts to  repair  it.  He  had  the  choice  of  saving  himself  and 
the  few  regiments  with  him,  by  falling  back  upon  Leipsic,  and 
leaving  Pappenheim  and  the  other  detached  corps  to  their 
fate,  or  of  maintaining  his  ground  against  a  superior  enemy, 
and  feeding  the  battle,  if  I  may  so  speak,  with  the  different 
corps  as  they  could  be  brought  up  to  the  field.  He  determ- 
ined upon  the  latter  course.  Signal  guns  were  fired  the  in- 
stant he  heard  of  the  movements  of  Gustavus ;  and  a  few 
brief  words,  written  in  the  utmost  haste,  were  dispatched  after 
Pappenheim,  to  bring  him  back  to  Lutzen,- where  the  duke 
himself  remained  at  the  head  of  only  twelve  thousand  men. 
Some  circumstances  favored  his  bold  determination.  The 
weather  had  been  rainy ;  the  roads  were  in  bad  condition ; 
the  day  was  foggy ;  a  small  stream  called  the  Reipach  was 
gallantly  defended  by  Colonel  Isolan,  at  the  head  of  a  small 
force  ;  and  night  fell  before  Gustavus  could  arrive  in  face  of 
Wallenstein's  position.  Never  did  skill,  sagacity,  and  activ- 
ity effect  more  to  repair  an  error  than  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. 

As  the  troops  came  in  during  the  night,  they  were  placed 
in  order  of  battle  on  the  famous  field  of  Lutzen  :  a  dead  fiat,  in- 
tersected by  ditches.  Some  of  these  ditches,  especially  those 
which  bordered  the  road  from  Weissenfels  to  Leipsic,  were 
deepened  during  the  night,  and  lined  with  musketeers,  who 
fired  over  the  earth  thrown  out  as  over  a  parapet.  Another 
line  of  musketeers  supported  the  first ;  and  behind  the  road, 
with  the  village  of  Lutzen  on  the  right,  extended  Wallenstein's 
whole  force.  The  walls  of  the  gardens  round  Lutzen  were 
loopholed  and  lined  with  musketeers ;  a  light  field  work  waa 
thrown  up  to  protect  the  left,  which  was  otherwise  much  ex- 
posed ;  a  battery  of  seven  guns  was  placed  in  front  of  the 
center  of  the  line,  and  another  battery  of  seventeen  guns  un- 


WALLEN8TEIN.  ^1 

der  the  Lutzen  wind-mill,  on  the  right.  The  infantry  occu- 
pied the  center  of  the  field,  and  the  cavalry  was  posted  on 
the  flanks.  On  the  extreme  left,  a  place  was  reserved  for 
Pappenheim,  of  whose  rapid  return  Wallenstein  felt  well  as- 
sured. 

Such  were  the  arrangements  for  the  battle,  drawn  up  by 
the  Duke  of  Friedland's  own  hand.  It  is  generally  supposed 
that  the  imperialists,  before  the  dawn  of  the  following  day, 
had  about  twenty-six  thousand  men  in  the  field,  including  the 
cavalry  of  Pappenheim,  which  he  brought  from  Halle  with 
the  most  zealous  haste.  The  Swedes  were  inferior  in  num- 
ber, but  much  superior  in  artillery  and  in  discipline.  Their 
line  would  appear  to  have  been  more  extended  than  that  of 
Wallenstein,  though  by  no  means  weak.  Before  they  halted 
for  the  night,  they  were  close  upon  Lutzen,  while  their  right 
rested  on  a  shallow  canal,  which  did  not  in  any  way  impede 
their  operations. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  November,  Wallenstein 
himself,  who  was  sufiering  severely  from  gout,  came  to  the 
field  in  a  carriage,  and  was  carried  along  the  line  in  a  chair. 
His  horses,  however,  were  ready ;  and  he  mounted  when  the 
action  began.  He  wore  no  defensive  armor,  but  was  dressed 
in  the  ordinary  buff  coat  of  a  superior  officer,  richly  laced  with 
gold.  The  King  of  Sweden  was  dressed  much  in  the  same 
manner,  but  with  less  ornament,  and  rode  a  beautiful  white 
horse,  which  afforded  a  conspicuous  mark  to  the  enemy's 
musketeers. 

The  day  broke  gloomily  ;  and  a  thick  fog  prevented  the  two 
armies,  though  so  near,  from  perceiving  the  movements  of  each 
other,  so  that  the  Swedes,  advancing  under  cover  of  the  mist, 
were  within  a  thousand  yards  of  the  Austrians  when  the  vapor 
began  to  disperse.  They  halted  at  that  distance,  and  the 
king  commanded  prayers  to  be  read  in  front  of  every  regiment. 

The  battle  did  not  begin  till  between  eleven  and  twelve 
o'clock,  when  the  sun  broke  out  and  the  mist  gradually  dis- 
appeared. The  left  of  the  Swedish  army  was  under  the  com- 
mand of  a  German  prince  of  no  light  fame,  whose  genius  and 
virtues  Gustavus  had  at  once  penetrated.  This  was  Duke  Ber- 
nard of  Weimar,  who  afterward  became  so  greatly  renowned. 
The  right  was  commanded  by  Gustavus  himself,  whose  only 
fault  as  a  general  seems  to  have  been  that  he  would  act  as  a 
soldier  also.  The  second  line  of  the  Swedish  troops  was  com- 
manded by  Kniphausen.  A  reserve  of  Scottish  infantry,  with 
one  regiment  of  cavalry,  was  placed  under  the  command  of  a 


332  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

celebrated  Scotch-  officer  named  Henderson,  and  decided  the 
fate  of  the  battle. 

On  the  side  of  the  imperialists,  Goetz  commanded  the  left 
"wing,  Offizzius  the  center,  and  Hoik  the  right.  Wallenstein 
commanded  the  whole,  and  assumed  no  particular  post,  but 
appeared  wherever  his  presence  was  needed. 

About  half  past  eleven,  the  firing  of  the  village  of  Lutzen 
marked  the  commencement  of  the  battle ;  and  the  Swedes 
advanced  with  a  loud  shout.  Gustavus  himself  led  them  on 
at  the  head  of  a  regiment  of  cavalry.  They  were  received 
with  a  terrible  fire  from  the  two  imperial  batteries,  and  I'rom 
the  trenches  lined  with  musketeers  ;  but  they  wavered  not  for 
an  instant.  Every  soldier,  in  both  hosts,  seemed  to  feel  that 
this  was  no  ordinary  combat,  that  it  was  the  lile  struggle  of 
the  two  greatest  generals  of  the  day,  the  greatest  blow  that 
had  yet  been  struck  for  the  predominance  of  one  of  two  re- 
ligions. The  Swedish  cavalry  of  the  right,  animated  by  the 
personal  presence  of  the  king  at  their  head,  dashed  over  the 
trenches,  passed  the  road,  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  im- 
perial left,  and  drove  it  back  into  the  plain.  The  Swedish 
center,  where  were  the  infantry,  pushed  on  with  the  pike, 
slaughtered  the  musketeers  in  their  trenches,  carried  the  seven 
gun  battery  in  the  center  of  the  imperial  line,  and  charged 
and  routed  the  first  line  of  Wallenstein's  iufantiy.  But  the 
left  of  the  Swedes,  under  Bernard  of  Weimar,  was  brought 
to  a  check  at  Lutzen.  A  tremendous  fire  from  the  wind-mill 
battery  tore  through  the  regiments  of  Bernard  of  Weimar ; 
and  along  every  loop-holed  garden  wall  ran  the  flash  of  the 
musketry,  carrying  death  into  the  Swedish  ranks. 

Secure  in  that  part  of  the  field,  Wallenstein  marked  the 
confusion  of  his  left  and  center,  and  galloped  at  full  speed  to 
recover  the  ground  lost.  His  presence  acted  like  magic  ;  the 
fugitives  rallied,  fresh  regiments  advanced,  and  charging  fierce- 
ly the  victorious  Swedish  center,  drove  it  back  over  the  road, 
recaptured  the  battery,  and  regained  the  ground.  Every 
where  was  Wallenstein  in  the  thick  of  the  fight.  The  spur 
was  torn  from  his  heel  by  a  cannon  ball ;  his  bufi'  coat  was 
pierced  in  several  places  by  musket  bullets  ;  and  every  on©  of 
the  officers  round  him  was  killed  or  wounded. 

In  the  mean  time,  Gustavus,  who  had  left  his  right  and 
center  victorious,  had  rallied  the  troops  upon  the  left,  and  led 
them  on  to  the  attack  of  Lutzen.  At  this  moment  he  re- 
ceived a  bullet  in  his  left  arm,  after  having  too  soon  thanked 
God  for  victory.     The  cry  ran  through  the  Swedish  troops 


VVALLENSTEIN.  333 

that  the  king  was  wounded  ;  but  Gustavus,  althougli  the 
bone  was  fractured  and  the  pain  greaj,  shouted  aloud,  "  It  is 
nothing  I     Follow  me." 

A  moment  after,  feeling  that  he  was  growing  faint,  he  turn- 
ed to  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Lauenburg,  who  was  riding  with  him, 
and  begged  him,  in  French,  to  lead  him  as  secretly  as  possi- 
ble out  of  the  fight.  By  this  time,  however,  the  advance  of 
Wallenstein's  fresh  troops,  and  the  recovery  of  the  ground  in 
the  center,  had  altered  entirely  the  aspect  of  the  battle.  In 
passing  round  between  the  two  armies,  in  order  to  find  a  way 
to  the  rear,  another  bullet  struck  Gustavus  in  the  back,  and, 
exclaiming  to  his  companion,  "  I  have  enough,  brother.  Seek 
to  save  your  own  life  I"  he  fell  headlong  from  his  horse. 

The  enemy  were  still  advancing,  and  victory  seemed  torn 
from  the  hand  of  the  Swedes.  Every  body  fled  from  the  body 
of  the  fallen  king,  except  one  noble  page,  the  son  of  the  Frei- 
herr  von  Lubeling,  who  leaped  from  his  horse,  it  is  said,  and 
endeavored  to  remount  the  king.  The  effort  was  in  vain,  for 
Gustavus  could  only  feebly  raise  his  hands.  The  imperial 
troops  swept  on,  and  both  Gustavus  and  the  page  remained 
amid  the  slain. 

Many  particulars  are  giv«n  of  what  followed  the  king's  fall. 
He  is  said  to  have  required  several  sword  and  pistol  wounds 
to  dispatch  him,  and  to  have  exclaimed,  in  dying,  "  I  was 
King  of  Sweden  I"  but  no  reliance  is  to  be  placed  on  such 
tales ;  and  all  that  we  really  know  is,  that  he  fell  as  the  ral- 
lied imperialists  were  advancing,''^  and  that  the  boy  Lubeling 
remained  with  him  to  the  last,  and  perished  in  consequence 
of  his  fidelity. 

The  white  horse  of  Gustavus,  flying  bloody  and  masterless 
along  the  ranks,  announced  to  his  faithful  followers  the  fate 
of  the  royal  rider.  The  terrible  news  reached  the  ears  of 
Bernard  of  Weimar,  and,  hastening  to  Kniphausen,  he  held 
with  him  a  short  consultation  as  to  what  was  to  be  done.  It 
was  proposed  to  retreat,  as  the  Swedish  army  was  still  in  good 
order  ;  but  the  gallant  duke  rejected  the  idea  with  scorn,  and, 
announcing  his  resolution  of  rescuing  Gustavus  from  the  hands 
of  the  enemy  if  still  alive,  or  avenging  him  if  dead,  he  or- 
dered the  whole  army  instantly  to  advance  to  the  charge. 

*  By  some  author  it  is  stated  that  Gustaviis,  after  having  restored  the 
battle  oil  his  left,  had  stopped,  if  not  driven  back,  the  imperiahsts  in 
the  center.  But  this  is  impossible  and  contradictoiy  ;  for  the  very  same 
authors  relate  the  immediate  passage  of  the  Austrian  troops  over  his 
body. 


334  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY 

Although  Schiller  denies  the  fact,  there  was  assuredly  some 
hesitation.  The  great  body  of  the  troops  were  undoubtedly 
moved  with  rage  rather  than  discouraged  by  Gustavus's  fall ; 
but  some  regiments,  it  is  clear,  refused  to  obey  ;  and  Bernard 
of  Weimer  cut  down  the  colonel  of  the  Steinbock  cavalry 
with  his  own  hand.  This  summary  punishment  restored  or- 
der and  obedience,  and  the  whole  Swedish  line  charged  with 
renewed  fury.  The  battery  of  seventeen  guns  under  the  wind- 
mill was  now  taken  and  turned  against  the  Austrians ;  the 
ground  in  the  center  was  recovered,  the  trenches  repassed  un- 
der a  murderous  fire,  the  seven  gun  battery  a  second  time  cap- 
tured, and  the  first  line  of  the  Austrian  infantry  driven  back. 
At  the  same  time  some  of  the  imperial  powder- wagons  blew 
up  with  a  tremendous  explosion,  and  scattered  confusion  and 
disarray  in  the  rear.  In  vain  were  all  the  exertions  of  Wal- 
lenstein  ;  in  vain  he  exposed  himself  in  every  part  of  the  field  ; 
in  vain  he  rallied  the  men,  and  brought  them  back  to  the 
charge  ;  a  second  time  the  battle  seemed  lost,  and  the  Swedes 
victorious.  Then,  however,  a  new  actor  appeared  upon  the 
field,  and  all  was  changed. 

Wallenstein's  brief  letter  of  recall  had  reached  Pappenheim 
while  his  troops  were  sacking  the  town  of  Halle.  He  had 
six  regiments  of  infantry  with  him,  computed  at  upward  of 
ten  thousand  men,  and  eight  regiments  of  cavalry.  Could  he 
have  brought  back  the  whole  of  this  force  to  the  field  of  Lut- 
zen  in  time  for  the  battle,  the  Swedish  array  must  have  been 
crushed,  and  the  war  perhaps  terminated  at  a  blow.  But  he 
saw,  from  the  terms  of  Friedland's  dispatch,  that  not  an  in- 
stant  was  to  be  lost.  It  was  in  vain  to  hope  that  the  infant- 
ry, scattered  through  the  town,  could  be  collected  and  march- 
&1  to  Lutzen  soon  enough  to  be  of  service  ;  but  the  cavalry 
were  gathered  together  instantly  ;  and,  at  their  head,  Pappen- 
heim galloped  off  to  the  last  of  his  fields.  He  found,  it  would 
appear,  the  left  of  Wallenstein's  forces  in  full  flight  ;*  but  his 
presence  instantly  served  to  rally  the  cavalry  of  that  wing. 

*  I  have  seen  it  somewhere  asserted  that  Pappeuheim  arrived  before 
the  commencement  of  the  battle,  and  had  even  time  to  give  his  troops 
some  repose ;  btit  every  account  of  the  strife  at  Lutzen  sliovvs  that  such 
could  not  possibly  be  tlie  case.  Pappenheim  was  not  an  officer  to  re- 
main inactive  in  or  near  the  field;  and  yet  no  one  makes  mention  of 
his  taking  an^  part  in  tlie  battle  till  after  the  imperial  lefl  was  in  full 
flight.  The  sileuce  of  all  parties  shows  distinctly  that  he  did  not  arrive 
till  toward  the  close  of  the  action,  and  that  Wallenstein's  forces  at  the 
bogionin^  of  the  battle  were,  in  reality,  under  twenty  thousand  men, 
and  inferior  to  the  Swedes  in  number  as  well  as  in  point  of  artillery. 


W  ALLEN  STEIN.  335 

His  cuirassiers  and  dragoons,  though  fatigued  with  a  long  and 
rapid  march,  were  animated  with  the  same  fierce  and  fiery 
spirit  as  their  leader ;  and  coming  like  a  thunderbolt  upon 
the  Swedish  right,  he  drove  it  back  over  the  field  of  Lutzen. 
Wallenstein  instantly  perceived  the  new  chance  of  success  af- 
forded him  ;  and  once  more  rallying  the  infantry  of  the  cen- 
ter, he  brought  it  successfully  to  the  charge. 

The  Swedish  ranks,  though  shaken  even  by  the  efforts  they 
had  made,  still  fought  gallantly ;  but  they  were  driven  back 
at  the  point  of  the  pike  ;  the  trenches  were  regained,  and  the 
battery  retaken.  Cool,  calm,  full  of  presence  of  mind,  Wal- 
lenstein is  here  represented,  even  by  those  who  least  admired 
him,  as  showing  all  fhe  qualities  both  of  a  general  and  a  hero. 
But  the  greatest  loss  that  could  befall  the  imperial  general 
took  place  in  the  midst  of  this  fierce  strife,  when  victory  seem- 
ed turning  to  his  side.  Carried  on  by  his  fiery  ardor,  Pappen- 
heim  clove  his  way,  at  the  head  of  his  cuirassiers,  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  Swedish  right.  At  the  same  moment  he 
received  two  musket-balls  in  the  chest,  and,  falling  from  his 
horse,  was  carried  by  his  attendants  out  of  the  fight.  His 
troops  were  discouraged  by  the  loss  of  their  fiery  leader ; 
horses  and  men  were  equally  fatigued  with  the  unparalleled 
exertions  they  had  made,  and  could  not  pursue,  or  even  re- 
tain, the  advantage  they  had  gained.  Goetz,  Terzky,  Collo- 
redo,  and  Piccolomini,  as  well  as  Wallenstein,  did  all  in  their 
power  to  maintain  the  ground ;  but  the  imperial  troops  were 
disheartened  :  many  had  fled  from  the  field ;  and  it  wanted 
but  one  great  effort  to  break  the  shaken  forces  that  remained. 
That  effort  was  made  by  Bernard  of  Weimar  at  the  end  of 
the  day.  Bringing  forward  Henderson's  reserve,  he  formed 
the  whole  Swedish  forces  into  one  line  ;  their  peculiar  disci- 
pline and  tactics  afforded  great  facilities  for  rapid  changes  of 
order  ;  and  with  an  army  in  good  array,  fatigued,  but  not 
disheartened,  he  once  more  advanced  against  the  shattered 
imperial  line,  crossed  the  road,  retook  the  trenches,  again  re- 
captured the  guns,  and  drove  back  the  infantry  of  the 
center. 

The  sun  was  setting ;  darkness  was  spreading  rapidly 
around,  and  Wallenstein  was  still  upon  the  field  ;  but  the  im- 
perial forces  were  broken  ;  many  regiments  were  in  full  flight ; 
the  cannon  were  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  The  Swedes 
had  certainly  won  the  day  ;  but  neither  party  held  the  field 
of  battle.  Wallenstein  led  his  broken  and  disheartened  forces 
to  Leipsic  under  cover  of  the  darkness ;  and  the  Swedes,  by 


33G  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 


1 


no  means  certain  of  their  victory,  when  night  fell  retired  to 
Weissenfels. 

Strange  to  say,  hoth  parties  left  their  artillery  on  the  field  ; 
and  had  Wallenstein  been  aware  of  what  was  likely  to  take 
place,  he  might  not  only  have  recovered  his  own  guns,  but 
taken  those  of  the  Swedes,  and  turned  a  defeat  into  a  triumph, 
Ibr  an  hour  after  nightfall  six  regiments  of  Pappenheim's  in- 
fantiy  arrived  at  Lutzen  from  Halle,  and  were  in  complete 
command  of  the  plain.  The  imperial  general  knew  nothing 
of  their  coming,  however  ;  but,  learning  that  their  command- 
er was  in  Leipsic,  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  thither, 
and  soon  fell  into  that  complete  state  of  disorganization  which 
by  this  time  affected  the  whole  of  the  Austrian  army.  Pap- 
pcnheim,  carried  to  Leipsic,  died  there  on  the  following  day ; 
and  Wallenstein,  able  to  bring  only  a  few  thousand  men  to- 
gether, with  the  Swedes  on  the  one  side,  and  the  Saxons  on 
the  other,  retreated  to  Bohemia,  in  order  to  recruit  his  forces 
and  prepare  for  a  new  struggle. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Lutzen,  the  fiercest  and  best-con- 
tested action  of  the  war.  Although  the  Swedes  had  undoubt- 
edly won  the  day,  the  death  of  their  great  leader  was  looked 
upon  by  the  court  of  Vienna  as  more  than  a  victory  ;  the  work 
of  Wallenstein  seemed  accomplished  to  the  imagination  of 
the  imperial  courtiers  and  ministers ;  jealousy,  suspicion,  and 
hatred  raised  their  venomous  heads  against  the  Duke  of  Fried- 
land  ;  and  the  death  of  his  great  rival  was  the  precursor  of 
Wallenstein's  fall.* 

*  Gustavus  Adolphus,  we  are  assured  by  many  writers,  was  mur- 
dered at  the  instigatiou  of  the  Jesuits  and  the  court  of  Vienna.  It  is 
certain  that  a  rumor  to  that  effect  was  current  at  the  period  of  his  death 
both  among  the  Germans  and  the  Swedes.  The  Duke  of  Saxe  Lauen- 
burg  is  generally  fixed  upon  as  the  assassin ;  and  some  facts  have  been 
brought  forward  to  show  that  such  was  the  case.  The  stoiy  is  still 
vei7  generally  believed  in  Germany,  but  receives  no  credit,  in  general, 
from  the  historians  of  other  nations.  One  of  Gustavus's  guards  wrote 
an  account  of  the  murder,  which  he  declares  he  saw  committed,  while 
he  himself  lay  at  the  distance  of  fifty  yards,  having  lost  his  leg  a  short 
time  befgre.  Part  of  the  man's  story,  however,  is  so  evidently  false, 
that  the  rest  of  it  can  not  receive  credit.  Two  persons  also  confessed 
the  crime,  from  what  motive  it  is  impossible  to  say;  for  it  is  very  sat- 
isfactorily proved  that  they  were  not  with  Gustavus  when  he  fell.  If 
they  did  it,  however,  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Lauenburg  did  not.  Dako 
Bernard  of  Weimar  was  suspected  witliout  the  slightest  cause,  and 
the  only  real  grouuds  for  attributing  the  death  of  the  great  King  of  Swe- 
den to  the  Duke  of  Saxe  Lauenburg  is  to  be  found  in  the  unprincipled 
character  of  the  man,  and  the  fact  that  ho  escaped  perfectly  unhurt 
from  the  battle  of  Lutzen.     If,  however,  the  statement  said  to  have 


W.ALLENSTBIN.  337 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

The  winter  of  1632-33  passed  in  preparations  for  a  new 
campaign,  in  rewarding  the  deserving  and  in  punishing  the 
culpable.  The  preparations  were  active  and  energetic  ;  the 
rewards  were  liberal,  if  not  extravagant ;  the  punishments 
were  cruelly  severe.  Wallenstein  never  claimed  the  victory 
of  Lutzen  ;  but  he  suffered,  without  contradiction,  his  quarter- 
master Diodati  to  do  so,  in  a  report  to  the  emperor,  written 
in  Vienna,  at  a  distance  from  Wallenstein ;  and  a  Te  Deum 
was  sung  in  all  the  Roman  Catholic  churches.  It  was  dif- 
ficult, indeed,  to  account  for  the  loss  of  the  artillery,  and  the 
retreat  of  a  victorious  army  ;  but  the  severities  exercised  by 
Wallenstein  showed  clearly  enough  that  he  felt  himself  de- 
feated. Twelve  officers  were  beheaded  in  Prague ;  seven 
were  publicly  disgraced  and  dismissed  the  service  ;  and  forty, 
who  did  not  appear  for  trial,  were  declared  infamous,  and 
their  names  nailed  to  the  gibbet.  In  the  distribution  of  re- 
wards, one  famous  name  was  wanting.  Piccolomini  received 
nothing.  It  is  probable  that  W^allenstein  had  not  forgotten 
his  former  ofienses  ;  and  it  is  not  very  apparent  that  this  offi- 
cer had  done  any  thing  to  wipe  them  away  from  remembrance. 

In  the  month  of  May,  1633,  the  Duke  of  Friedland  was 
once  more  ready  for  the  field,  and  again  at  the  head  of  forty 
thousand  men  well  disciplined,  armed,  and  provided  ;  but  the 
campaign  which  followed  is  one  of  the  most  obscure  and  mys- 
terious in  history.  It  afibrds  the  only  reasons  that  exist  for 
supposing  there  might  be  some  truth  in  the  charges  afterward 

been  drawn  up  from  the  lips  of  the  noble  boy  Lubeling  is  authentic — 
of  which  I  entertain  many  doubts — the  king  was  killed  in  fair  and  hon- 
orable warfare.  The  boy  is  said  to  have  survived  the  battle  several 
days,  to  have  been  perfectly  sensible  to  the  last,  and  to  have  made  the 
statement  for  the  information  of  his  father.  If  so,  it  is  hardly  possible 
he  could  have  been  cut  down,  trampled  under  foot  by  the  imperial 
troops,  and  then  stripped  by  the  Croats,  who  seldom  left  any  life  in  the 
bodies  they  so  treated.  It  is  clear,  however,  that  neither  Oxenstiern 
nor  Bernard  of  Weimar  gave  the  slightest  credit  to  the  story  of  the 
king's  assassination. 

r 


338  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

brought  against  the  Dnke  of  Friedland.  To  form  any  thing 
Hke  a  rational  judgment  of  his  conduct,  we  must  look  for  a 
moment  at  the  state  of  the  contending  parties. 

The  Saxons  had  overrun  a  great  part  of  Silesia,  and  were 
still  in  close  alliance  with  the  Swedes.  Close  alUances,  how- 
ever, do  not  forbid  jeaiousy  and  hatred ;  and  the  Elector  of 
Saxony  had  never  either  really  loved  or  trusted  Gustavus. 
After  that  monarch's  death,  the  ifeame  feelings  existed  toward 
those  who  succeeded  him,  only  increased  in  virulence.  Oa 
the  other  hand,  Duke  Bernard  of  Weimar,  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  men  of  the  day,  had  become  the  leader  of  the 
forces  which  won  the  battle  of  Lutzen.  The  famous  Chan- 
cellor Oxenstiern  was  named  the  Swedish  legate,  as  it  was 
termed,  in  Gennany ;  and  by,  incredible  efforts  he  restored 
confidence  and  firmness,  not  only  to  the  Swedish  forces,  but 
to  the  timid  and  wavering  German  princes.  He  could  effect 
little,  indeed,  with  Saxony,  Brandenburg,  and  Brunswick,  be- 
yond maintaining  them  in  a  hostile  attitude  toward  Austria ; 
but  meeting  the  states  of  Upper  Germany  at  Heilbron,  on  the 
Neckar,  in  the  month  of  April,  1633,  he  induced  them,  by 
persuasion,  menaces,  and  even  bribes,  to  carry  on  the  war  with 
vigor.  But  the  Elector  of  Saxony  refused  to  take  part  in  the 
League  of  Heilbron,  as  it  was  called  ;  and  that  very  fact  may 
be  supposed  to  have  displayed  sufficiently  an  inclination  to  de- 
tach himself  from  the  common  cause  of  the  Protestant  princes. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  Wallenstein  once  more 
took  the  field  ;  and  perhaps  the  considerations  which  nat- 
urally arose  from  these  relations  might  have  some  share  in 
the  conduct  he  pursued.  Nevertheless,  it  is  clear  that,  after 
the  battle  of  Lutzen,  the  Duke  of  Friedland  for  some  months 
did  nothing  at  all  worthy  of  his  reputation,  nothing  at  all  in 
accordance  with  the  energetic  activity  of  his  mind  or  the  stern 
determination  of  his  character.  It  is  true  that  he  was  sufTer- 
ing  severely  from  disease,  which  rendered  him  irritable,  impa- 
tient, and  fierce.  Perhaps  illness  might  also  produce  inac- 
tivity ;  but  still,  the  great  change  in  his  whole  conduct  nat- 
urally produced  suspicion. 

Leaving  the  territories  of  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  to  fall 
under  the  power  of  the  victorious  Swedes,  and  the  elector 
himself  to  seek  refuge  as  a  fugitive  in  the  Tyrol — leaving  the 
whole  states  of  the  Rhine  at  the  mercy  of  the  enemy,  Wal- 
lenstein marched  his  army  toward  Silesia.  But  there,  instead 
of  expelling  the  Saxons  under  Amheim,  he  commenced  nego- 
tiations, concluded  a  short  truce,  and  evidently  attempted  to 


WALLENSTBIN.  839 

effect  a  separate  peace  with  Saxony.  Reports  were  busily 
circulated  that  he  was  treating  for  his  own  individual  inter- 
ests, and  that  the  most  ambitious  schemes  against  the  impe- 
rial power  itself  actuated  him  at  this  moment.  There  is  not 
the  slightest  proof  that  such  schemes  entered  into  his  mind  ; 
and,  in  pursuit  of  his  great  object  of  gaining  the  Saxons,  we 
may  well  conceive  that  Wallenstein  was  contented  to  sacri- 
fice a  portion  of  his  military  glory.  But  we  can  not  so  easily 
account  for  the  inactivity  and  feebleness  of  his  operations 
when  the  truce  came  to  an  end  and  hostilities  were  resumed. 
He  invested  and  bombarded  the  town  of  Schweidnitz,  it  is 
true,  but  he  effected  nothing  against  it ;  and  when  Count 
Arnheim  advanced  to  its  relief,  Wallenstein  retreated  before 
him,  took  up  a  strong  position,  and  contented  himself  with 
harassing  the  enemy  with  light  troops.  This  conduct  has 
never  been  explained. 

Shortly  after,  the  mediation  of  Denmark  was  offered  to 
bring  the  war  to  a  conclusion ;  and  a  Congress  was  appoint- 
ed to  meet  at  Breslau,  to  consider  the  terms  of  a  treaty  of 
peace.  In  order  to  give  time  for  negotiations,  a  new  truce 
was  concluded  between  Austria,  Brandenburg,  and  Saxony. 
It  was  to  last  for  a  month,  and  hostilities  were  not  to  be  re- 
sumed for  some  weeks  after  it  expired.  The  coiiduct  of  all 
parties  now  seems  to  have  been  very  strange.  Neither  the 
Swedes  nor  the  League  of  Heilbron  sent  deputies  to  the  Con- 
gress ;  and  though  Wallenstein  was  left  free  to  act  against 
the  Swedes,  he  remained  perfectly  inactive.  In  the  mean 
time,  Arnheim,  who  had  not  included  the  Swedes  in  his  treaty 
with  Wallenstein,  set  out  to  confer  with  Oxenstiern,  giving 
the  Duke  of  Friedland  previous  notice  of  his  intention.  Wal- 
lenstein, in  a  letter  still  extant,  endeavored  to  persuade  him 
not  to  go.  Nevertheless,  Chemnitz  the  historian,  who  wrote, 
it  is  supposed,  under  the  supervision  of  Oxenstiern  himself, 
declares  that  a  most  extraordinary  proposition  was  made  by 
Arnheim  to  the  Swedish  minister  on  the  part  of  the  Duke  of 
Friedland.  The  Saxon  general  assured  Oxenstiern,  we  are 
informed,  that  Wallenstein  was  on  bad  terms  with  the  court 
of  Vienna  ;  that  the  emperor  had  called  the  Duke  of  Feria 
from  Italy  to  replace  Wallenstein  in  the  command,  with  the 
intention  of  removing  and  disgracing  the  latter  ;  that  Wallen- 
stein was  informed  of  these  facts,  and  had  never  forgiven  his 
former  dismissal.  He  was  now  determined,  Arnheim  said,  to 
punish  the  house  of  Austria.  He  had  secured  the  co-opera- 
tion of  the  generals  Gallas  and  Hoik  ;  and  he  now  proposed, 


340  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

through  Arnheim,  as  a  mutual  Becurity.,  that  six  Austrian  regi- 
ments should  be  exchanged  for  six  Swedish  ones.  As  soon  as 
this  was  efTected,  Arnheim  said,  Wallenstein  would  march 
into  Bohemia,  and,  restoring  the  privileges  of  the  Bohemian 
people,  march  to  Vienna  and  force  the  emperor  to  conclude  an 
inglorious  peace. 

It  is  impossible  to  believe  that  Wallenstein  should  ever 
have  conceived  so  wild  a  scheme  ;  nor  can  we  at  all  reconcile 
the  fact  of  such  a  proposal  having  been  made  by  Arnheim 
with  Wallenstein's  letter  urging  him  not  to  go  to  Oxenstiern 
at  all.  Yet  the  statement  of  Chemnitz  is  distinct ;  and  it  is 
probable  the  mystery  will  never  be  solved.  Oxenstiern  posi- 
tively refused  to  consent ;  and  looking  upon  the  very  proposal 
as  the  vail  of  some  deep  design,  warned  Bernard  of  Weimar 
to  be  upon  his  guard  against  the  Duke  of  Friedland.  On  his 
return  to  Silesia,  Arnheim  had  an  interview  with  Wallenstein ; 
and  in  several  of  his  letters  to  the  Duke  of  Brandenburg,  he 
makes  the  most  extraordinary  statements  with  regard  to  Wal- 
lenstein's conduct,  representing  him  as  varying  in  his  views 
and  proirosals  like  a  madman,  and  insinuating  that  the  Duke 
of  Friedland  had  some  deep  and  subtile  policy  at  the  bottom 
of  this  vacillation.  The  question  is,  was  Arnheim  himself  true  ? 
Was  Wallenstein  really  mad  or  a  traitor  ?  or  was  Arnheim 
misrepresenting  him,  and  playing  a  most  infamous  part  for  his 
own  purposes  ?  •     ' 

It  must  be  remembered  that,  while  Wallenstein  had  re- 
mained steadfastly  attached  to  one  party,  and  had  served  his 
sovereign  uninterruptedly  for  years,  making  immense  sacrifices 
in  so  doing,  Arnheim  had  betrayed  the  cause  he  was  sent  to 
support  in  Poland,  had  abandoned  the  standard  under  which 
he  served,  had  fought  against  the  prince  under  whom  he  had 
risen  to  fame,  and  was  pronounced  by  a  very  deep-seeing 
minister  to  be  the  most  perfect  Jesuit  that  ever  lived. 

If  Arnheim  was  calumniating  the  Duke  of  Friedland  and 
playing  him  false,  there  were  others  in  Saxony  who  aided  in 
the  intrigue.  A  certain  Count  Kinsky,  a  Protestant  noble- 
man banished  from  Bohemia,  and  nearly  allied  to  Wallen- 
stein by  marriage,  opened  communications  with  Feuquieres, 
the  French  embassador  to  the  Protestant  states  of  Germany, 
about  the  middle  of  the  year  1C33.  He  confirmed  Feuquieres 
in  the  belief  that  a  rupture  betwetni  Wallenstein  and  the 
court  of  Vienna  was  inevitable  ;  and,  after  some  hesitation, 
Richelieu,  anxious  to  eflect  the  complete  ruin  of  the  house  of 
Austria,  and  relying  on  the  repeated  assurances  of  Kinsky, 


WALLENSTEIN.  341 

authorized  Feuquieres  to  make  the  most  magnificent  overtures 
to  the  Duke  of'Friedland.  A  memorial  was  accordingly  drawn 
up  and  sent  to  Wallenstein,  in  which  every  bad  passion  of  his 
nature  is  courted — ^revenge,  ambition,  pride,  and  the  crown  of 
Bohemia,  and  even  higher  dignities  are  held  out  to  him  as 
inducements.  We  find  from  the  letters  of  Feuquieres,  that 
Wallenstein  made  no  answer.  The  efibrt  was  not  to  be 
abandoned,  however.  Urgent  proposals  were  made  ;  more 
splendid  offers  were  added  ;  the  support  of  two  French  armies, 
a  subsidy  of  a  million  of  livres,  and  a  guarantee  of  the  crown 
of  Hungary  were  promised,  if  Wallenstein  would  openly  raise 
the  standard  of  revolt  against  Austria. 

Wallenstein  was  still  silent.  In  various  letters,  Feuquieres 
clearly  shows  that  he  thinks  the  Duke  of  Friedland  is  playing 
a  deep  game,  for  the  purpose  of  disuniting  the  Saxons,  the 
Swedes,,  and  the  French ;  and  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  be- 
lieve that  this  able  statesman's  view  was  just.  There  were 
at  this  time  three  distinct  armies  in  Silesia  ;  the  Saxon  army 
under  Arnheim  and  the  Duke  of  Lauenburg ;  the  Branden- 
burg army  under  General  Borgsdorf ;  and  a  Swedish  army 
under  the  Bohemian  exile.  Count  Thurn.  United,  they  would 
have  formed  a  formidable  force,  especially  as  all  the  strong 
places  of  Silesia  were  in  their  hands ;  but  dissensions  had 
speedily  taken  place  between  Arnheim  and  Thurn  ;  the  Bran- 
denburgers  made  common  cause  with  the  Saxons ;  and  both 
looked  upon  their  deliverers,  the  Swedes,  as  intrusive  foreigners. 
All  that  could  be  done  to  annoy  and  weaken  the  Swedish 
army  was  early  sought  for  by  the  Saxon  allies  of  Sweden  ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  amicable  feeling  existed  be- 
tween the  officers  of  Wallenstein  and  of  Arnheim.  Instead 
of  passing  their  time  in  battles  and  sieges,  they  spent  it  in 
visiting  each  other,  and  entertaining  their  friendly  enemies  at 
dinner.  Every  now  and  then,  indeed,  Wallenstein  performed 
some  deed  of  daring  or  severity,  as  if  to  show  that  it  was  not 
fear  of  the  Saxons  which  kept  him  quiet.  The  Swedes  natu- 
i  rally  looked  upon  Arnheim  as  a  traitor  ;  and  we  are  inclined 
^to  ask  whether  that  general's  statements  of  the  views  of  Wal- 
lestein  to  Oxenstiern  and  others,  might  not  be  made  with  a 
view  to  conceal  his  own  treacherous  proceedings,  while  he  was 
carrying  on  secret  negotiations  with  the  Duke  of  Friedland 
for  a  peace  between  Saxony,  Brandenburg,  and  Austria,  from 
which  Sweden  was  to  be  excluded,  and  perhaps  France  like- 
wise? 

It  is  quite  consistent  with  the  known  character  of  Wallen- 


3«2  DARK    SCENES    OF   HISTORY. 

stein,  also,  to  suppose  that,  in  his  lofty  reserve,  he  determined 
to  keep  the  whole  transaction  secret,  even  from  the  court  of 
Vienna,  till  every  thing  was  arranged,  and  that  he  let  Rumor 
say  what  she  would  of  his  conduct,  knowing  that  his  inten- 
tions were  honest  and  upright.  It  must  be  acknowledged, 
however,  that  in  transactions  so  dark  and  obscure,  any  solu- 
tion must  be  purely  hypothetical.  The  only  certain  facts  are, 
that  Wallenstein  lay  inactive  during  the  whole  of  the  early 
part  of  1633,  or  contented  himself  with  taking  some  insignifi- 
cant places  in  presence  of  the  Saxon  army ;  and  that  he  con- 
cluded a  truce  with  Arnheim,  and'  then  another,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  free  scope  to  the  negotiations  at  Breslau.  How 
far  those  negotiations  had  proceeded,  it  may  be  difficult  to 
discover  ;  but  it  would  certainly  seem  that  the  efforts  of  Wal- 
lenstein laid  the  foundation  for  that  secession  of  Saxony  from 
the  alliance  with  Sweden  which  afterward  took  place. 

It  is  not  improbable,  indeed,  that  such  progress  had  been 
made  toward  peace  as  to  alarm  the  mercenaries  of  the  im- 
perial army.  A  great  number  of  these  men,  especially  the 
ItaUan  portion  of  them,  were  without  principles,  attachments, 
or  zeal.  They  were  mere  hired  sworders,  who  came  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  enriching  themselves  by  the  plunder  of  the 
country  in  which  they  served,  with  the  intention  of  carrying 
off  their  booty  to  their  own  land  when  tired  of  the  trade  of 
war.  The  very  name  of  peace,  then,  was  hateful  to  them  ; 
and  as  Wallenstein  always  professed  to  seek  for  peace,  and 
evidently  sought  it,  he  was  by  this  time  in  no  great  favor  with 
many  imperial  officers,  who  throve  alone  by  the  continuance 
of  hostilities. 

The  negotiations  at  Breslau  created  fear  and  alarm  in  the 
bosoms  of  many,  and  somewhat  barbarous  means  were  taken 
to  bring  them  to  an  end.  Prince  Ulric  of  Denmark,  who 
was  taking  an  active  part  in  the  matter,  while  riding  on  some 
party  of  pleasure,  passed  and  saluted  Piccolomini,  and  a  few 
minutes  after  was  shot  by  one  of  that  officer's  carabineers. 
The  negotiations  were  broken  off';  the  King  of  Denmark  was 
loud  in  his  complaints,  and  Wallenstein  was  ordered  by  the 
emperor  to  investigate  the  circumstances  of  the  murder.  It 
was  never  proved  distinctly  that  Piccolomini  had  ordered  the 
assassination  of  the  prince  ;  but  strong  suspicion  attached  to 
him  which  has  not  been  removed. 

The  armistice  soon  came  to  an  end  ;  and,  hopeless  of  con- 
cluding a  peace  without  some  further  blow  at  the  allies,  Wal- 
lenstein took  the  field  in  earnest.     He  now  put  forth  all  his 


%^** 


WALLENSTEIN.  843 

strategetic  skill,  and  showed  that  rapidity  and  decision  of 
action  for  which  he  had  been  formerly  famous.  The  dissen- 
sions between  the  Swedish  and  Saxon  armies  kept  them  sep- 
arate, but  not  at  so  great  a  distance  that  a  rapid  junction  could 
not  be  effected  at  any  time.  The  Swedes  under  Thurn  lay 
in  an  intrenched  camp  at  Steinau  on  the  Oder,  some  distauQC 
below  Breslau.  Arnheim,  with  the  Saxon  forces,  was  in 
Kauth,  a  little  to  the  southwest  of  the  latter  city.  Wallen- 
stein  could  not  attack  Arnheim  without  danger  from  tho 
Swedes ;  nor  could  he  pass  the  Saxons  to  attack  the  Swedes. 
In  these  circumstances  he  determined  to  deceive  Arnheim  by 
a  stratagem,  and  ordered  General  Hoik,  with  his  division,  to 
move  rapidly  toward  the  Elbe  in  the  neighborhood  of  Meis- 
sen. Some  authors,  indeed,  say  that  Hoik  had  entered  Misnia 
before  the  last  truce,  and  rpade  great  progress  in  the  con- 
quest of  the  country ;  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  probable 
that  Arnheim  and  the  Swedes  would  have  remained  quietly 
on  the  Oder  while  an  imperial  army  was  within  a  few  march- 
es of  Dresden,  and  Wallenstein  was  ready  to  fall  upon  Upper 
Saxony.  Ho_wever  that  might  be,  the  Duke  of  Friedland 
now  made  a  feigned  movement  to  follow  Hoik,  taking  care 
that  his  operations  in  that  direction  should  be  conspicuous 
and  noisy.  Arnheim,  completely  deceived,  broke  up  his  camp, 
and  hurried  to  the  west  to  defend  the  Electorate ;  and  Wal- 
lenstein, concealing  his  maneuvers  by  the  mountains,  turned 
rapidly  to  the  Oder  and  fell  upon  the  Swedish  camp.  A  large 
body  of  Austrian  cavalry  crossed  the  river  and  cut  off  the 
possibility  of  Thurn's  retreat  in  that  direction,  while  Wallen- 
stein, on  the  left  bank,  surrounded  the  intrenched  camp  of  the 
Swedes.  It  is  said  that  the  defenses  of  this  camp  were  not 
yet  completed,  and  that  Thurn,  with  a  force  of  only  from, 
five  to  eight  thousand  men,  could  not  have  maintained  his 
position  against  more  than  thirty  thousand.  Certain  it  is, 
that  Wallenstein  instantly  summoned  him  to  surrender,  and 
gave  him  but  half  an  hour  to  decide ;  that  Thurn  at  once 
agreed  to  capitulate,  and  that  Wallenstein  permitted  him  to 
do  so. 

The  terms  were  regularly  drawn  up  and  signed.  All  the 
private  soldiers  became  prisoners  of  war,  and  the  officers 
were  permitted  to  depart.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Wal- 
lenstein might  have  enforced  more  severe  conditions,  and  both 
demanded  and  obtained  the  surrender  of  all  the  officers  like- 
wise. His  not  having  done  so  was  made  a  principal  charge 
against  him  at  an   after  period  ;  and  that  charge  was  un- 


944  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

doubtedly  well  justified ;  but  it  was  the  fact  of  having  suf- 
fered Count  Thum  himself  to  escape  from  the  vengeance  of 
the  court  of  Vienna  that  gave  point  to  the  offense,  Walleri- 
stein  has  been  defended  upon  the  ground  that  he  liberated 
Thurn  in  the  execution  of  a  regular  convention  ;  but  Wallen- 
stein  could  have  refused  to  sign  that  convention  at  all,  and 
Thurn  must  have  surrendered. 

His  conduct  has  been  variously  accounted  for.  Schiller, 
believing  that  all  this  time  he  meditated  revolt,  supposes  that 
he  allowed  Thurn  to  escape  because  their  enemies  in  Vienna 
were  the  same  ;  but  it  is  probable,  I  think,  that  the  Duke  of 
Friedland  expressed  his  real  sentiments  when,  in  answering  a 
reproachful  letter  from  the  imperial  minister,  he  said,  "  What 
could  I  have  done  with  this  madman?  Would  to  Heaven 
that  the  enemy  had  more  such  generals  as  this.  At  the 
head  of  a  SwecUsh  army  he  would  do  much  more  for  us  than 
in  prison." 

The  captured  soldiers  were  forced  to  incorporate  them- 
selves with  the  Austrian  army,  as  was  very  common  in  that 
day ;  and,  hurrying  from  conquest  to  conquest,  Wallenstein 
took  Leignitz  and  Gross-Glogau,  and  made  himself  master 
ol"  the  whole  course  of  the  Oder  as  far  as  Frankfort,  which 
also  surrendered  to  his  arms.  In  the  mean  time,  one  of  his 
officers.  Colonel  Schafgotch,  made  great  progress  in  reducing 
Silesia  ;  and  while  lUo  and  Goetz  pushed  on  to  Pomerania, 
and  captured  Landsberg,  the  key  of  that  country,  Wallenstein 
himself,  with  the  main  body  of  his  army,  marched  up  the 
Neissa,  took  Gorlitz  by  storm,  and  forced  Bautzen  to  sur- 
render. 

Terror  now  spread  among  the  allies ;  Saxony  and  Bran- 
denburg saw  their  frontiers  menaced  by  a  powerful  and  in- 
creasing army ;  the  Swedes  beheld  their  retreat  toward  the 
Baltic  Hkely  to  be  cut  off,  and  their  communication  with  their 
resources  on  the  point  of  being  interrupted  ;  and  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that,  had  Wallenstein  been  permitted  to  follow  out 
his  own  plans,  he  would  soon  have  forced  the  two  electors  to 
separate  themselves  from  the  Swedes,  and  placed  the  emperor 
in  a  position  to  dictate  what  terms  of  peace  he  pleased  to  Ox- 
enstiern. 

All  this  time,  howeV«er,  the  enemies  of  Wallenstein  were 
busy  at  the  imperial  court,  representing  him  as  a  traitor,  who 
was  only  waiting  his  opportunity  to  dismember  the  empire,  if 
not  to  dethrone  the  emperor.  Every  failing  in  his  character, 
every  error  he  committed,  every  rash  word  he  spoke,  was 


WALLEN8TEIN.  345 

woven  together  with  a  thousand  threads  of  falsehood,  into  one 
web  of  calumny  and  accusation,  in  which  it  is  now  impossi- 
ble, perhaps,  to  separate  the  truth  from  the  lies. 

Wallenstein  was  not  permitted  to  follow  out  his  best  de- 
signs against  the  enemy.  The  fears  of  the  emperor  and  the 
Duke  of  Bavaria  checked  him  in  full  career.  The  Swedes 
were  making  immense  progress  in  the  south,  and  Ratisbon 
itself  fell  betbre  the  arms  of  Bernard  of  Weimar  on  the  24th 
of  October.  Nothing  seemed  left  to  impede  the  march  of  the 
Swedish  army  along  the  Danube  to  Vienna.  Maximilian, 
considered  once  so  great  a  general,  was  cowed  and  panic- 
struck  ;  the  emperor  had  no  one  to  rely  upon  but  Wallen- 
stein ;  and  messengers  were  sent  off  to  him,  entreating,  per- 
suading, and  commanding  him  to  march  at  once,  without  an 
instant's  delay,  to  the  defense  of  the  Austrian  territories. 
They  reached  him  just  as  he  was  hovering  like  an  eagle  over 
Dresden,  ready  to  stoop  upon  the  Saxon  capital ;  and,  with 
mortification  and  anger,  he  obeyed  the  order. 

Leaving  a  large  body  of  his  troops  behind  to  secure  his 
conquests,  he  marched  through  Bohemia  toward  the  Upper 
Palatinate.  At  Pilsen  he  held  a  conference  with  the  famous 
Austrian  minister,  Trautmansdorfl';  and  the  report  of  their 
interview  must  not  be  passed  over,  as  the  words  and  conduct 
of  Wallenstein,  related  by  one  who  waa  in  no  way  friendly 
to  him,  are  totally  at  variance  with  the  charges  afterward 
brought  against  him.  TrautmansdorfT  tells  the  emperor,  in 
his  letters,  that  he  found  the  Duke  of  Friedland  in  the  high- 
est possible  state  of  anger  and  irritation,  complaining  bitterly 
of  the  calumny  of  his  enemies  at  the  court  of  Vienna,  and  of 
the  conduct  of  the  emperor  himself,  who,  contrary  to  the 
stipulations  which  he,  Wallenstein,  had  made  on  assuming 
the  command  of  the  army,  had  sent  private  orders  to  Gen- 
erals Strotzzi  and  Altringer  without  his  concurrence.  On 
account  of  this  interference,  Wallenstein  expressed  his  de- 
termination to  resign.  This  might  have  been  a  mere  threat ; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  coupled  it  with  serious  advice,  which 
was  totally  incompatible  with  the  designs  attributed  to  him. 
He  urged  the  emperor  to  conclude  a  peace  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible, declaring  that  every  thing  would  be  lost  if  such  a  course 
was  not  pursued ;  and  he  represented  to  the  monarch  that 
ten  battles  gained  by  the  Austrian  troops  would  be  produc- 
tive of  very  small  results,  as  the  Swedes,  supported  by  all  the 
external  and  internal  enemies  of  the  house  of  Austria,  would 
never  want  resources  by  which  their  losses  might  be  retrieved, 

P  2 


846  t)AHK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

while  the  loss  of  a  single  battle  on  the  emperor's  part  would 
put  his  crown  in  peril.     ^ 

As  if  to  give  an  opportunity  of  ascertaining  whether  the 
emperor  would  follow  Wallenstein's  advice  or  not,  fresh  pro- 
posals of  peace  were  brought  by  Duke  Francis  Albert  of 
Lauenburg,  before  the  conferences  of  Pilsen  terminated  ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  the  emperor  and  his  minister  seem  to  have 
been  perfectly  willing  to  trust  the  negotiation  entirely  to  the 
Duke  of  Friedland.  Wallenstisin,  however,  refused  to  under- 
take the  whole  responsibility  of  a  task  in  which  he  probably 
knew  that  he  should  be  frustrated  by  the  intrigues  of  the 
court  of  Vienna  ;  and  he  merely  besought  the  emperor  to  con- 
sult him  upon  the  principal  points  proposed.  It  is  further  to 
be  remarked  that,  in  the  correspondence  of  this  time,  the  em- 
peror speaks  of  him  in  the  highest  terms,  and  denies  having 
listened  to  any  reports  •  against  him.  The  falsehood  of  this 
denial  is  now  hardly  doubtful. 

After  the  conferences  with  Trautmansdorfi]  Wallenstein, 
having  previously  sent  Strotzzi  with  a  considerable  force  to 
aid  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  marched  with  the  rest  of  his  army 
to  Furth,  investing  the  town  of  Cham  by  the  way,  evidently 
with  the  intention  of  drawing  Bernard  of  Weimar  away  from 
the  banks  of  the  Danube.  In  this  object  he  succeeded,  for 
Bernard  immediately  hastened  to  give  him  battle.  But  with 
divided  forces,  too  late  in  the  year  to  recover  Ratisbon,  and 
with  a  Saxon  army  threatening  the  frontiers  of  Bohemia, 
Wallenstein  did  not  choose  to  risk  an  engagement  with  the 
victorious  Swedes,  and,  retreating  skillfully  into  Bohemia,  pre- 
pared to  place  his  troops  in  winter-quarters,  within  tha  em- 
peror's hereditary  dominions. 

This  step,  it  would  appear,  gave  offense  to  Ferdinand  ;  and 
for  the  first  time  we  find  him  speakuig  of  Wallenstein  in  a 
jealous  and  irritable  tone.  He  required  the  troops  to  be 
quartered  beyond  the  frontiers ;  and,  if  that  could  not  be 
dona,  the  distribution  of  the  army  was  to  be  submitted  to  the 
emperor,  in  order  that  he  might  make  his  own  arrangements 
for  the  reception  of  the  troops  with  the  governors  of  the  prov- 
inces. Count  Questenberg  was  the  bearer  of  the  emperor's 
will  to  the  Duke  of  Friedland,  who,  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the 
responsibility  of  refusing  to  obey  impracticable  commands,  re- 
ferred the  imperial  suggestions  to  a  council  of  war,  which  re- 
jected them  with  open  contempt,  declaring  they  must  have 
been  drawn  up  by  persons  utterly  ignorant  of  military  mat- 
ters.    The  officers  composmg  the  council  added  to  this  scorn- 


WALLBNSTEIN.  347 

ful  reply  loud  and  significant  imirmurs  at  their  treatment  by 
the  imperial  court,  complaining  that  their  pay  was  withhela, 
that  even  the  money  they  had  advanced  for  the  levy  of  troops 
had  never  been  repaid,  and  that  there  seemed  no  hope  of  their 
obtaining  satisfaction. 

All  these  murmurs  were  set  down  to  the  charge  of  Wal- 
lenstein.  Insinuations,  rumors,  accusations  were  repeated 
from  mouth  to  mouth  at  Vienna ;  and  the  emperor,  accus- 
tomed to  break  all  his  own  engagements,  could  not  believe 
that  any  one  would  be  more  faithful.  He  had  formally  agreed 
not  to  meddle  in  any  way  with  the  command  of  the  army ; 
but  yet  at  this  very  time  he  sent  orders  to  an  officer  of  the 
name  of  De  Suys  to  lead  the  forces  under  his  command  to 
aid  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  ;  and  a  very  angry  correspondence 
ensued,  the  emperor  insisting  and  Wallenstein  opposing  his 
will.  The  emperor  even  threatened  in  language  not  to  be 
misunderstood ;  but  the  Duke  of  Friedland  still  represented 
the  danger  of  weakening  the  force  at  his  command. 

Suddenly  a  great  change  takes  place  in  the  tone  of  the 
emperor's  letters.  He  resumes  the  appearance  of  confidence 
and  friendship ;  and  even  in  the  month  of  January,  1 634, 
writes  in  a  familiar  and  kindly  manner.  At  this  very  time, 
Ferdinand  had  taken  measures  for  removing  Wallenstein  from 
command,  and  was  in  secret  communication  with  the  superior 
officers  of  the  army  for  the  purpose  of  securing  their  co-op- 
eration in  whatever  course  he  thought  fit  to  pursue. 

The  intrigues  which  were  taking  place  could  not  be  alto- 
gether concealed  from  Wallenstein.  He  had  friends  in  Vien- 
na, and  many  in  the  camp  were  sincerely  attached  to  him. 
He  saw  that  his  ruin  was  determined,  and  he  easily  under- 
stood that  the  fears  of  a  weak  monarch  might  lead  to  greater 
severities  than  the  mere  depriving  him  of  com.mand.  To 
Trautmansdorff  he  had  announced  his  determination  of  re- 
tiring altogether  from  the  emperor's  service  unless  peace  were 
speedily  concluded,  and  of  seeking  a  refuge  at  Dantzic,  with 
a  very  few  friends,  to  wait  for  the  fulfillment  of  his  prophe- 
cies. He  now,  it  would  appear,  determined  to  forestall  the 
designs  of  his  enemies  by  immediate  resignation  ;  and  gather- 
ing a  number  of  his  officers  together  in  Pilsen,  he  informed 
them  of  his  resolution. 

Many  authors,  having  at  their  head  the  famous  name  of 
Schiller,  have  here  commenced  a  long  detail  of  treasonable 
practices  carried  on  by  Wallenstein  in  the  imperial  army,  few 
of  them  giving  any  authorities  for  the  statements  which  they 


348  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

make,  and  even  those  few  resting  their  assertions  on  the  most 
frail  and  most  suspicious  foundations ;  letters  written,  and  re- 
ports made  to  the  court  of  Vienna  by  the  known  enemies  of 
Wallenstein,  by  Italian  mercenaries  whom  he  had  either  pun- 
ished or  offended,  and  by  persons  who  had  more  or  less  a  di- 
rect share  in  his  assassination. 

It  is  painful  to  be  obliged  to  say  that,  among  all  these,  so 
great  a  man  as  Schiller  has  shown  the  very  least  knowledge 
of  historical  criticism.  His  account  of  Wallenstein's  death,  in 
his  history,  deserves  tlie  name  of  a  fiction  fully  as  much  as  the 
representation  of  the  same  event  in  his  play  ;  and  for  a  mul- 
titude of  statements  which  he  makes  there  can  be  brought 
forward  not  the  slightest  evidence  whatever.  All  the  story 
of  Wallensteinls  transactions  with  Illo  and  Piccolomini  are 
based  upon  materials  which  can  never  serve  for  the  foundation 
of  true  history  ;  and  though  the  details  of  many  parts  of  this 
sad  tragedy  are  enveloped  in  mystery,  from  which  it  is  in  vain 
to  hope  they  will  ever  be  extracted,  I  must  say  that  Schiller 
has  only  rendered  the  darkness  more  profound  by  bringing 
across  it  the  evanescent  flash  of  his  own  imagination.  Fors- 
ter  has  thrown  more  light  upon  the  scene  than  any  one  ;  but 
even  he  has  left  the  conduct  of  the  principal  characters  still 
very  doubtful.  History,  indeed,  is  but  a  mist,  tlirough  which 
some  grand  forms  are  seen,  and  over  which  some  mountain 
tops  appear. 

We  only  discover  at  this  point  that  the  conduct  of  the  em- 
peror was  base,  pusillanimous,  treacherous,  and  faithless.  We 
know  that  he  did  all  the  things  with  which  he  afterward 
charged  the  memory  of  his  victirr. :  that  he  concealed  his  de- 
signs, that  ho  affected  friend^ip  '^hen  he  meditated  murder, 
that  he  intrigued  with  the  officerc  of  Wallenstein's  array,  that 
he  falsified  truth,  and  successfully  enacted  the  hypocrite. 

Wallensteinr  in  the  mean  while,  stands  a  grand  shadowy 
specter,  the  outlines  of  which  wo  can  but  indistinctly  perceive, 
though  we  see  a  vast  and  majestic  form  before  us.  The  thick 
mists  with  which  passion  and  prejudice  have  enveloped  it  are 
rendered  the  more  obscure  aad  impenetrable  by  the  gloomy 
reserve  of  the  man  himself,  as  a  black  mountain  is  less  easily 
seen  on  a  dark  night  than  a  chalky  cliff".  What  were  his  de- 
signs we  know  not.  To  what  point  of  treason  lie  had  been 
goaded  on,  either  by  his  own  ambition  or  by  the  ingratitude 
and  baseness  of  the  court  of  Vienna,  it  is  impossible  to  say ; 
but  this  much  is  clear,  that,  till  his  retreat  from  Furth  into 
Bohemia,  not  one  proved  act  of  Wallenstein  gives  any  reason 


W  A  L  L  E  N  S  T  B I N.  349 

to  suppose  that  he  was  engag:ed  in  treason.  The  charge  rests 
eolcly  upon  the  assertions  oi"  the  basest,  subtilest,  and  most 
interested  persons,  while  many  of  the  great  general's  acts  are 
perfectly  incompatible  with  the  ambitious  designs  ascribed  to 
him.  Had  he  meditated  usurping  the  crown  of  Bohemia,  he 
never  would  have  treated  the  proposals  of  France  with  con- 
temptuous silence.  Had  he  thought  of  dethroning  the  em- 
peror, and  driving  the  Austrian  family  out  of  Germany  by  the 
arms  of  Sweden,  France,  and  Saxony,  he  would  never  have 
urgently  and  perseveringly  counseled  the  immediate  conclu- 
sion of  peace. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WALLENSTEIN. 

Are  these  men  met  for  a  merry-making,  with  their  gay  and 
glittering  accouterments,  their  plumes  waving,  their  scarfs 
fluttering,  their  embroidery  glittering  in  the  light  ?  Yes,  they 
have  assembled  in  the  house  of  Field-marshal  Illo  for  a  grand 
banquet,  and  forty-two  of  the  most  renowned  officers  of  the 
Austrian  army  are  there.  There  are,  indeed,  only  three  su- 
perior officers  absent :  Altringer,  and  Colleredo,  and  Gallasso, 
or  Gallas,  as  he  is  called,  two  Italians  and  a  German.  They 
are  all  met  to  hold  one  of  the  wild  revels  of  the  time,  on  their 
temporary  reunion  in  Pilsen.  But  why  are  there  gloomy  faces 
and  frowning  brows  among  them  ?  Their  aspect  is  not  that 
of  revelers.  They  look  like  angry  and  disappointed  men. 
But  let  us  hearken  to  their  words. 

"  We  must  not  let  him  resign  the  command,"  said  one ; 
*•  if  he  do,  the  army  and  we  are  lost.  What  can  a  king  of 
Hungary  do  against  Weimar  or  Horn  ?" 

"  What  is  to  become  of  our  pay  ?"  added  another ;  "  neither 
my  men  nor  myself  have  touched  a  florin  these  nine  months." 

"  Except  what  you  squeezed  out  of  the  Frankfort  citizens," 
replied  another.  "  But  where  are  we  to  look  for  the  repay- 
ment of  all  our  advances  ?  The  emperor  owes  me,  tor  money 
spent  in  raising  my  regiment,  fifteen  thousand  crowns." 

"  It  was  upon  the  duke's  assurances  I  spent  my  last  penny 
in  the  emperor's  service,"  said  a  fourth,  "  and  he  must  needs 
see  me  paid." 


850  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

"  How  can  Ke  see  you  paid  without  an  army  at  his  back  ?" 
demanded  Illo ;  "  (he  moment  he  retires  from  command,  he 
is  as  powerless  with  the  imperial  court  as  a  sick  sheep." 

"  He  will  do  what  he  can  for  every  man,  be  you  all  sure 
of  that,"  said  Terzsky  ;  "  no  one  ever  gave  his  money  so  freely 
among  the  soldiers.  What  I  fear  is  that  he  will  have  nothing 
left  to  give,  and  no  power  to  obtain  any  thing  from  the  em- 
peror. I  know  that  he  •  has  drained  his  duchies  of  the  last 
crown." 

"  Why,  the  emperor  owes  him  twenty  millions  of  florins," 
rejoined  Illo  ;  *'  and  it  is  an  easy  way, of  cancehng  the  debt 
to  accept  his  resignation.  No,  no,  my  friends,  we  must  not 
let  him  resign." 

"  But  how  can  we  prevent  him  ?"  asked  another ;  "  he  told 
us  positively  that  he  would  command  no  longer." 

"  That  is  because  he  has  wearied  Vienna  in  vain  with  im- 
portunities for  our  pay,"  said  another ;  "  and  because  he  thinks 
that  diplomatic  fools  have  it  all  their  own  way  with  the  court, 
and  will  do  what  they  like  with  us,  and  liimself,  and  the 
army.  .  We  must  take  the  same  way  that  the  Swedes  have 
taken  with  good  old  Oxenstiern,  enter  into  a  league  among 
ourselves  to  do  ourselves  right,  and  him  too." 

"  Nothing  rash,"  said  Illo :  "  if  we  can  keep  the  duke  at 
our  head,  we  are  safe.  All  he  can  desire  is  to  be  made  sure 
that  we  will  support  him.  Let  us  give  him  the  assurance 
under  our  own  hands  then.  Look  here,  I  have  drawn  out  a 
paper  which  we  can  all  sign ;  for  it  is  prudent,  though  it  is 
firm.  There  is  no  treason,  no  mutiny  in  that.  With  this  for 
his  security,  Friedland  can  boldly  oppose  every  effort  to  do  us 
wrong,  and  make  every  effort  to  do  us  right." 

"  Great  wrong  they  wanted  to  do  me,"  said  another  officer, 
••  when  they  ordered  my  corps  to  be  quartered  at  Glogau. 
Why,  after  fighting  all  the  summer  and  all  the  autumn,  I 
should  have  had  to  fight  all  the  winter  for  my  quarters,  if  the 
duke  had  not  resisted." 

"  Ay,  we  owe  him  every  thing,"  answered  a  new  speaker, 
"  and  I'll  shed  the  last  drop  of  my  blood  for  him." 

In  the  mean  time  the  paper  was  handed  round,  passing 
from  one  to  another,  till  all  had  read  it.  No  one  made  any 
objection,  although  Piccolomini  looked  somewhat  askance  at 
the  pledge,  and  asked,  in  a  whisper,  of  an  officer  near  him, 

"  What  do  you  think,  Brenner  ?" 

"  I  think  that  without  it  we  are  all  lost,  and  the  duke  too," 
replied  the  officer  to  whom  he  spoke. 


WALLENSTEIN.  851 

"  The  emperor  is  a  good  and  gracious  master,  nevertheless," 
said  Piccolomini,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Doubtless,"  answered  Brenner ;  "  but  he  has  bad  men 
about  him ;  and  you  see,  we  only  bind  ourselves  to  serve  and 
obey  Friedland  as  long  as  he  uses  the  army  in  the  service  and 
for  the  good  of  the  emperor." 

While  they  spoke,  the  meal  was  served,  and  all  sat  down 
to  the  rich  and  dainty  fare  provided.  Wallenstein  was  not 
present.  Noise  he  could  not  bear,  and  revelry  he  hated  ;  and 
there  soon  were  noise  and  revelry  enough.  Rapidly  went  round 
the  wine,  and  deep  drank  the  guests.  Laughter,  and  jest, 
and  song,  and  shouts  of  applause  shook  the  whole  house,  and 
reached  even  the  ears  of  persons  in  the  houses  opposite.  The 
lowest  soldiers  in  the  camp,  the  merest  party  of  plundering 
cuirassiers  who  had  suddenly  fallen  upon  some  unexpected 
booty,  could  not  have  rioted  more  rudely  than  the  great  men 
there  present,  the  counts,  the  barons,  the  generals.  Picco- 
lomini himself  drank  as  deeply  as  the  rest,  and,  growing  wild 
with  wine  and  excitement,  drew  his  sword  and  shouted  for  a 
bowl  of  wine  to  the  emperor's  health.  Every  one  drank  the 
toast  without  hesitation  ;  but  when  the  paper  was  again  men- 
tioned and  produced,  every  one  also  signed  the  promise  to  hold 
by  Wallenstein  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood,  as  long  as  he 
should  continue  to  command  the  army  in  the  sei-vice  and  for 
the  good  of  the  emperor.* 

Even  Piccolomini  himself  put  his  hand  to  the  paper ;  but 
shortly  after,  two  gentlemen  entered  the  room,  whispered  a 
few  words  to  him,  and  drew  him  immediately  away  from  the 
revel.  He  looked  back  with  longing  eyes  at  the  circling  wine ; 
but  he  had  still  some  sense  left,  and  suffered  himself  to  be  led 
to  a  house  opposite,  where  lodged  two  emissaries  of  the  impe- 
rial court. 

But  where  was  Wallenstein  all  this  time  ?  Seated  in  a 
lonely  room,  far  from  the  scene  of  revel,  with  sentries  stationed 
round,  to  prevent  any  noise  reaching  his  ear  and  disturbing 
his  thoughts.     The  table  before  him  was  covered  vidth  many 

*  The  court  of  Vienna  aTterward  publicly  stated  that  this  loyal  clause, 
though  undoubtedly  read  in  the  paper  submitted  before  the  banquet, 
was  omitted  altogether  in  that  which  was  brought  forward  for  signa- 
ture afterward,  and  that  the  half-drunken  guests  did  not  perceive  the 
fraud.  The  falsehood  of  this  assertion  is  evident.  Many  of  the  officers 
present  were  tried  for  this  transaction,  and  not  one  of  them  made  the 
pretended  fraud  a  ground  of  defense,  or  even  an  excuse  for  their  con- 
duct. They  all  contended  that  the  document  they  signed  was  per- 
fectly lo3faL 


352  DARK   SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

papers,  reports  of  quarter-masters  and  adjutants,  plans  of  for- 
tifications, maps  of  different  countries,  and  innumerable  let- 
ters. That  on  which  his  eyes  were  fixed,  however,  was  a 
sketch  of  conditions  proposed  for  the  conclusion  of  a  general 
peace ;  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  he  examined 
every  clause,  and  thought  over  it  deeply. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  at  last ;  "  that  will  not  do.  The  em- 
peror does  not  see  that  it  would  give  the  Saxons  an  entrance 
into  Bohemia  when  they  pleased,  and  make  them  all-power- 
ful in  the  empire ;"  and,  taking  a  pen,  he  wrote  something  in 
the  margin,  in  a  small  and  feeble  hand,  very  different  from 
the  bold  and  decided  style  of  writing  which  he  had  used  some 
twenty  years  before.  He  then  went  on  with  the  other 
clauses,  commenting  upon  many  of  them,  then  sent  for  a  mes- 
senger, and,  sealing  up  the  packet,  dispatched  it  to  Vienna. 
After  that,  he  turned  to  matters  connected  with  the  quarter- 
ing of  his  forces,  and  then  wrote  some  letters  to  agents  on  his 
vast  estates,  pressing  them  earnestly  to  raise  money  by  any 
means,  to  enable  him  to  give  part  of  the  arrears  of  pay  to  the 
troops. 

For  several  days  after  these  events,  messengers  were  con- 
stantly on  the  road,  passing  to  and  fro  between  Pilsen  and 
Vienna,  and  between  Vienna  and  Prague.  The  imperial 
cabinet  was  agitated  by  consultations,  conferences,  and  nego- 
tiations. A  thousand  rumors,  arising  no  one  could  tell  how, 
of  great  deeds  being  on  the  point  of  execution  spread  abroad  ; 
and  the  demeanor  of  the  emperor,  agitated,  troubled,  often  at 
his  prayers  with  more  than  even  his  usual  devotion,  gave 
countenance  to  the  sinister  rumors  that  were  current.  The 
Spanish  and  Bavarian  ministers  were  very  busy,  and  more 
than  one  Italian  officer  was  frequently  closeted  with  the  em- 
peror. 

Sounds  reached  Wallenstein  that  gave  him  some  alarm, 
M'hich  even  the  friendly  and  confidential  letters  of  the  emperor 
could  not  altogether  remove.  On  the  13th  of  February,  Fer- 
dinand wrote  to  his  general,  expressing  the  utmost  confidence 
in  him,  and  trusting  the  safety  of  the  kingdom  of  Bohemia  to 
his  care.  Wallenstein  had  already  been  pronounced  an  out- 
law, and  officers  had  been  appointed  to  deprive  him  of  his 
command.  The  sentence  was  kept  secret,  as  far  as  it  could 
be  ;  but  some  rumor  must  have  reached  Wallenstein's  ears ; 
for,  a  week  after,  he  dispatched  Brenner  and  Mohrwald  to 
express  to  the  emperor  his  readiness  not  only  to  resign  his 
command,  but  to  appear,  at  any  appointed  time  or  place,  to 


WALLENSTEIN.  35S 

answer  all  charges  which  could  be  brought  against  him. 
Neither  messenger  reached  his  destination.  Both  were  ar- 
rested on  the  way  by  Piccolomini  and  Diodati. 

On  the  evening,  and  during  the  night  of  the  21st  of  Feb- 
ruary, intelligence  was  brought  to  Wallenstein  that  a  procla- 
mation of  outlawry  against  him  had  been  posted  up  in  the 
streets  of  Prague  ;  that  Piccolomini  and  Diodati  were  march- 
ing upon  Pilsen  with  the  troops  under  their  command  ;  and 
that  an  Italian  regiment,  to  whom  he  had  sent  some  orders 
during  the  day  before,  had  refused  to  obey,  declaring  that  he 
was  no  longer  their  general.  He  could  doubt  no  longer.  He 
saw  that  his  ruin  was  determined,  and  he  resolved  to  fly  and 
seek  refuge  with  the  Swedes. 

Notwithstanding  every  warning  he  had  received  of  the 
machinations  of  his  enemies,  notwithstanding  all  the  vast  and 
ambitious  designs  attributed  to  him,  no  preparation  had  been 
made  for  the  defense  of  Pilsen,  no  troops  collected  even  to 
guard  his  person.  AX  this  time,  Francis  Albert,  duke  of 
Lauenburg,  was  in  the  town,  still  charged  with  a  negotiation 
for  peace  between  Saxony,  Sweden,  and  the  empire.  Him 
Wallenstein  instantly  dispatched  to  Bernard  of  Weimar,  who 
was  then  at  Ratisbon,  to  beg  assistance  from  a  generous  en- 
emy. 

Instead  of  being  in  league  with  the  Swedes,  as  has  been 
asserted,  Wallenstein  was  looked  upon  by  them  so  complete- 
ly as  their  enemy,  that  Bernard  refused  at  first  to  move  a 
single  regiment  to  protect  him ;  and,  until  he  heard  that  the 
Duke  of  Friedland  had  actually  quitted  Pilsen,  he  took  no 
one  step  in  his  favor. 

In  the  mean  time,  however,  the  unhappy  Duke  of  Fried- 
land  began  his  march  for  Egra  on  the  22d  of  February,  1634, 
early  in  the  morning.  Ill,  desponding,  and  indignant,  with 
but  a  handful  of  troops  to  accompany  him  of  all  the  magnifi- 
cent army  he  had  lately  commanded,  he  journeyed  forward  in 
a  sort  of  horse-litter,  surrounded  by  those  on  whom  he  thought 
he  could  most  fidly  rely.  His  friends,  Field-marshal  lUo, 
Counts  Terzsky  and  William  Kinsky,  and  an  officer  named 
Neumann,  bore  him  company,  with  the  wives  of  some  of  them. 
Colonel  Butler,  an  Irish  Roman  Catholic  officer,  commanded 
two  hundred  dragoons,  who  formed  part  of  the  escort,  and 
seven  companies  of  infantry  made  up  the  rest.  In  Butler, 
Wallenstein  had  the  greatest  confidence.  He  had  favored 
him  on  many  occasions ;  and  he  little  knew  that  now,  even 
on  the  march,  Butler  was  corresponding  with  Piccolomini,  re- 


354  DARK   SCENES  OF    HISTORY. 

oeiving  his  instructionB,  and  promising  to  thwart  the  designs 
oi"the  rebels." 

Wallenstein's  first  day's  march  ended  at  Miess.  The  sec- 
ond evening  brought  him  to  Egra,  the  commandant  of  which 
fortress  was  a  Scottish  Calvinist  of  the  name  of  Gordon,  Heu- 
tenant  colonel  of  Count  Terzsky's  regiment :  the  major  of  the 
same  regiment  was  another  Scotchman,  of  the  name  of  Les- 
lie ;  and  neither  of  them  had  yet  heard  of  Wallenstein's  dis- 
grace with  the  court  of  Vienna.  They  received  him,  then, 
with  the  highest  honors  ;  and  Wallenstein,  entering  the  towu, 
took  up  his  abode  at  the  house  of  the  mayor,  which  fronted 
the  public  market-place. 

Egra  was  the  last  fortress  on  the  Bohemian  frontier ;  and 
Wallenstein  now  thought  himself  in  security.  Nevertheless, 
he  frankly  communicated  to  Gordon  and  Leslie  the  situation 
in  which  he  was  placed,  and  the  cause  of  his  flight  from  Pil- 
sen,  telling  them  they  might  follow  him  into  his  exile  or  not, 
as  they  thought  fit.  They  both  promised  at  once  to  adhere 
to  him  ;  and  Wallenstein  slept  in  peace  that  night  at  Egra. 

During  the  night,  however,  Butler  called  Gordon  and  Les- 
lie to  a  conference,  showed  them  a  secret  order  from  Picco- 
lomini,  the  exact  directions  contained  in  which  will  probably 
never  be  known,  and  the  emperor's  proclamation  against 
Wallenstein.  The  determination  of  the  two  Scotch  officers 
was  instantly  changed.  In  their  secret  conference,  the  speedy 
death  of  Wallenstein  was  resolved.  Seven  others,  five  Irish- 
men and  two  Spaniards,  were  brought  into  the  plot ;  and 
they  all  took  an  oath,  over  their  draAvn  swords,  to  murder 
their  general.  He  was  not  to  be  the  only  victim,  however. 
Gordon  had  invited  Illo,  Terzsky,  William  Kinsky,  and  Neu- 
mann to  sup  with  him,  in  the  citadel,  on  the  following  even- 
ing ;  and,  as  their  faithful  attachment  to  Wallenstein  was 
likely  to  throw  impediments  in  the  way  of  the  assassins,  it 
was  determined  that  they  should  be  the  first  victims. 

The  day  passed  over  in  perfect  tranquillity.  Wallenstein, 
feeling  safe  in  Egra,  had  determined  to  wait  there  for  intelli- 
gence from  the  Swedes.  His  faithful  friends,  Terzsky  and 
Kinsky,  with  their  wives,  were  lodged  in  a  house  opposite. 
The  soldiers  of.  the  garrison  seemed  all  strongly  attached  to 
him,  and  he  had  no  fear. 

When  the  hour  of  supper  arrived,  the  four  guests  proceeded 
to  the  citadel,  while  Wallenstein,  who  kept  himself  apart 
from  all  such  meetings,  remained  tranquilly  at  home.  As 
soon  as  Illo,  the  two  counts,  and  Neumann  had  entered  the 


WALLENSTEIN.  85i 

citadel,  the  gates  were  closed.  Devereux,  one  of  the  Irish 
conspirators,  was  placed  in  a  small  room  next  to  the  supper 
hall  with  SIX  dragoons,  armed  only  with  their  swords,  to  pre- 
vent noise.  Geraldine,  another,  with  twelve  more  dragoons, 
was  in  another  chamber  close  at  hand.  The  rest  of  the  con- 
spirators were  there  as  guests.  Gordon  and  his  companions 
bore  a  gay  and  smiling  aspect,  received  their  destined  victims 
with  every  appearance  of  frank  kindness,  sat  down  to  table 
with  them,  eat,  drank,  and  made  merry.  The  supper  ended 
and  the  servants  gone,  Geraldine  and  his  dragoons  entered 
the  hall,  while  Devereux  appeared  at  the  other  door.  The 
one  cried,  "  Long  live  the  house  of  Austria  I"  the  other, 
"  Who  are  good  imperialists  ?"  Butler,  Gordon,  and  Leslie 
drew  their  swords  and  attacked  the  unhappy  guests. 

Kinsky  fell  at  once.  lUo  strove  to  reach  his  sword  from 
the  wall  behind  him,  but  was  stabbed  in  the  back  and  slain.* 
Neumann,  terribly  wounded,  fell  under  the  supper  table  ;  but 
Terzsky,  whose  sword  was  within  reach,  cast  himself  into  a 
corner  of  the  hall,  and  defended  himself  to  the  last,  calling 
down  vengeance  on  the  traitors.  Before  he  fell,  he  had  killed 
two  of  his  assailants,  mortally  wounded  a  third,  and  disarmed 
a  fourth,  but  he  was  ft  length  overpowered  and  slain.  Neu- 
mann, in  the  confusion,  contrived  to  escape  to  the  court-yard, 
but  it  was  only  to  be  cut  down  by  the  guard,  as  he  did  not 
know  the  countersign.  Leslie  (or,  as  others  declare,  a  servant 
of  Terzsky's)  issued  forth  immediately  after  from  the  gates  of 
the  citadel,  taking  his  way  toward  the  town.  The  guard, 
not  knowing  him,  fired  two  shots  after  him,  which  must  have 
created  some  alarm,  though  they  did  not  take  effect ;  and 
Leslie,  returning  to  the  castle,  made  the  soldiers  under  arms 
take  an  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  emperor. 

A  new  consultation  was  then  held,  and  it  would  seem  that 
even  the  murderers  of  the  brave  men  who  had  just  fallen 
hesitated  to  shed  the  blood  of  Wallenstein.  Long  habits  of 
reverence,  and  even  of  fear,  made  them  doubt  and  tremble  as 
they  approached  the  terrible  deed.  They  consulted  whether 
it  would  not  be  better  to  take  him  alive  and  carry  him  as  a 
prisoner  to  Vienna ;  and  one  even  suggested  that,  though  the 

*  Schiller's  account  is  different.  He  says  that  Count  William  Kin- 
sky  and  Count  Terzsky  were  killed  at  once,  and  that  it  was  lUo  who, 
placing  himself'  in  a  window,  reproached  Gordon  with  his  treachery, 
and  killed  several  of  his  assailants  before  he  was  dispatched.  I  have 
chosen,  of  course,  the  statements  which  seem  to  me  best  authentica- 
ted ;  but  I  think  it  light  to  point  out  to  the  reader  that  this  teirible 
transaction  is  very  diflferently  represented  by  different  writers. 


356  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

deed  might  be  very  acceptable,  the  murderers  might  be  pun- 
ished. 

The  slaughter  of  four  superior  officers,  however,  seemed  to 
put  long  hesitation  out  of  the  question  ;  and  Butler  soon  per- 
suaded his  companions  that  honors  and  rewards,  not  punish- 
ments, would  follow  the  death  of  a  man  equally  feared  and 
hated  by  the  imperial  court. 

It  was  resolved  to  conclude  the  tragedy.  Yet  so  dreadful 
was  the  name  of  Wallenstein,  that  the  deed  was  not  attempt- 
ed without  the  utmost  precaution.  A  hundred  dragoons  were 
sent  down  to  parole  the  streets  of  the  town,  to  keep  all  quiet, 
and  especially  to  watch  the  house  in  which  Wallenstein  re- 
posed. Nevertheless,  some  rumors  of  what  had  been  passing 
in  the  castle  must  have  got  abroad ;  for  about  midnight  the 
Countesses  Terzsky  and  Kinsky  received  intelligence  of  the 
assassination  of  their  husbands,  and  filled  the  air  with  their 
shrieks. 

Just  about  the  same  hour.  Captain  Devereux  presented 
himself  with  six  halberdiers  at  the  door  of  the  mayor's  house, 
and  demanded  to  speak  with  Wallenstein.  The  duke,  after 
a  conference,  it  is  said,  upon  what  authority  I  know  not,  with 
Seni  the  astrologer,  had  retired  to  beef!  But  it  was  so  com- 
mon for  superior  officers  to  visit  him  at  unusual  hours,  that 
his  guard,  which  had  not  been  increased  in  number,  suffered 
Devereux  and  his  companions  to  pass.  A  page  upon  the 
steps,  indeed,  was  seized  with  alarm,  and  began  to  make  a 
noise  ;  but  he  was  instantly  run  through  the  body  with  a 
pike,  and  silenced  by  death.  In  the  ante-room  of  Wallen- 
stein's  chamber,  or  just  coming  out  of  it,  Devereux  encountered 
the  valet  who  had  aided  his  lord  to  undress,  and  who  begged 
him  not  to  make  a  noise,  as  the  duke  was  going  to  sleep. 

"But  this  is  the  time  for  noise,  friend,"  shouted  Devereux; 
and,  finding  the  door  locked  within  and  without,  he  burst  it 
open  with  his  foot. 

The  voices  of  women,  shrieking  for  the  death  of  their  hus- 
bands, had  come  across  the  square,  and  called  Wallenstein 
from  his  bed  the  moment  before.  He  was  standing  at  the 
window,  leaning  with  his  hand  upon  the  table,  and  about,  ap- 
parently, to  ask  the  guard  below  what  was  the  matter,  when 
Devereux  burst  into  the  room.  Wallenstein  turned  instant- 
ly toward  him  ;  and  the  murderer  exclaimed,  "  Art  thou  the 
villain  who  seekest  to  bring  the  emperor's  soldiers  over  to  the 
enemy,  and  wouldst  take  the  crown  from  his  head  ?  Now 
must  thou  die." 


WALLEN8TEIN.  357 

Even  at  tliis  moment  he  paused,  and  hvisitated  for  an  in- 
stant, as  if  waiting  for  an  answer,  Wallenstein,  however, 
made  him  none.  He  now  understood  "the  whole  ;  and  bold, 
proud,  and  firm  to  the  last,  he  threw  wide  his  arms  and  re- 
ceived the  point  of  Devereux's  partisan  in  his  breast.  He  ut- 
tered not  a  word,  but  fell  dead  upon  the  ground,  without  cry 
or  groan. 

Thus  died  the  Duke  of  Friedland  with  the  same  proud 
dignity  which  he  had  displayed  through  life. 

A  debt  of  twenty  millions  was  canceled  at  a  blow ;  vast 
estates  were  acquired  by  confiscation  to  the  imperial  crown  ; 
the  emperor  was  delivered  from  the  fear  of  the  gi-eatest  man 
in  his  dominions,  and  from  the  bond^ige  of  gratitude  to  one 
whom  he  could  never  sufficiently  reward.  It  was  natural 
that  those  who  ran  down  the  deer  should  have  a  part  of  the 
flesh,  and  all  who  took  a  share  in  the  murder  were  magnifi- 
cently rewarded.  Butler  found  his  bloody  hand  pressed  in 
that  of  the  emperor.  He  received  a  regiment,  was  made  a 
count.  The  archbishop  decorated  him  with  a  gold  chain, 
and  confiscated  estates  supported  his  dignity.  The  same  was 
the  case  with  Leslie.  Gordon  and  Devereux  were  honored 
and  rewarded  ;  and  large  sums  of  money  showed  each  of  the 
common  soldiers  engaged  what  a  profitable  thing  it  was  to 
murder  in  the  emperor's  service. 

It  was  natural,  too,  to  calunmiate  the  memory  of  the  dead, 
as  well  as  to  reward  the  actions  of  the  living.  The  service- 
able deed  had  left  a  stain  behind  it,  which  could  not  be  wiped 
away  like  the  blood  from  the  hands  of  the  assassins.  The 
charges  against  Wallenstein  and  his .  friends  were  pubfished 
to  the  world.  They  were  many,  serious,  and  supported  by 
grave  assertions.  But  they  failed  to  convince  historians,  who 
approached  the  subject  with  any  degree  of  critical  intelligence, 
that  Wallenstein  ever  entertained  any  serious  design  of  uniting 
with  the  enemies  of  the  emperor,  till  he  was  driven  in  self- 
defense  to  seek  support  against  the  maltreatment  of  the  court 
of  Vienna.  Whatever  judgment  men  might  form  of  his  con- 
duct and  his  character,  whether  they  might  think  him  guilty 
or  innocent,  a  faithful  subject  or  a  mutinous  soldier,  the  dark 
hypocrisy  of  the  emperor,  his  scorn  for  all  the  forms  of  justice, 
his  black  trafficking  in  the  blood  of  his  subjects,  his  ingrati- 
tude, his  meanness,  his  baseness,  were  displayed  by  every  act 
that  preceded,  accompanied,  or  followed  the  tragedy  of  Egra. 


358  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 


HEROD  THE  GREAT. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  country  from  Mount  Taurus  to  the  Arabian  Desert 
offered,  during  the  latter  years  of  the  Republic  of  Rome,  a 
scene  of  inextricable  confusion,  upon  which  it  is  needless  to 
dwell.  Multitudes  of  petfy  kings  and  tyrants  started  up, 
the  limits  of  whose  territories  were  continually  changing ;  and, 
though  frequently  chastised  by  Roman  generals,  the  hydra  of 
anarchy  invariably  renewed  the  heads  that  were  smitten. 

Though  Rome  was  bold  enough  to  call  Asia  a  Roman 
province,  yet  a  multitude  of  states  and  territories  were  totally 
independent,  even  between  the  Euphrates  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean. On  the  other  side  of  the  Euphrates,  a  wide  extent 
of  country  was  occupied  by  the  Parthians.  Tigranes  reigned 
in  Armenia ;  Mithridates  occupied  Pontus  ;  and  to  the  south 
of  Judsea  lay  Idumsea,  filled  with  the  wild  children  of  the 
desert.  In  Juda3a  itself,  after  the  death  of  Antiochus  the 
Great,  many  changes  had  taken  place.  Judas  Maccabaeus 
rose  up  for  the  deliverance  of  his  people,  and,  receiving  the 
office  of  high-priest,  made  a  treaty  of  league  and  amity  with 
the  Romans.  His  brethren,  Jonathan  and  Simon,  continued 
to  defend  Judaea  against  many  enemies,  till  the  latter  was 
treacherously  killed,  and  was  succeeded  in  the  high-priesthood 
by  the  famous  John  Hyrcanus,  his  third  son. 

Hyrcanus  proved  himself  a  mighty  and  a  good  ruler ;  and, 
though  not  always  successful,  still  he  did  not  fail,  on  the 
whole,  to  extend  the  power  of  the  Jewish  people,  subdued  the 
IdumaBans,  imposed  upon  them  the  rites,  and  induced  them 
to  submit  to  the  law  of  the  Jews.  The  Idumajans  thus  be- 
came proselytes  of  justice  in  the  eye  of  the  Jewish  law,  and 
were  looked  upon  as  forming  part  of  the  same  people,  though 
not  descended  from  any  of  the  tribes  of  Israel.  A  portion  of 
the  territory  which  they  inhabited  had  formed  part  of  the  in- 
heritance of  Simeon  and  Judah,  and  Hyrcanus  was  therefore 
justified  in  requiring  them  to  submit  to  proselytism,  or  to 
abandon  the  country. 


HEHOD    THE    GREAT.  359 

Under  Hyrcanus,  the  Jewish  people  were  governed,  ap- 
parently, with  great  equity  and  justice.  He  endeavored,  it 
would  appear,  to  purify  the  religion  of  the  Jews  from  many 
of  the  corruptions  which  had  been  introduced.  He  contented 
himself  with  the  high-priesthood  and  the  powers  which  it 
conferred,  and  was  reputed  to  possess  the  gift  of  prophecy ; 
but  with  him  ended  the  theocratical  form  of  government. 

Aristobulus,  the  eldest  son  of  John  Hyrcanus,  was  an  am- 
bitious and  wicked  prince.  He  assumed  the  regal  diadem, 
and  cast  his  mother,  and  two  of  his  brethren  into  prison.  His 
mother  he  starved  to  death,  and  afterward  caused  his  favor- 
ite brother,  Antigonus,  to  be  assassinated.  Sickness,  however, 
overtook  him,  and  remorse  increased  disease,  till  death  termin- 
ated his  career,  after  a  reign  of  only  one  year.  During  that 
short  time,  he  and  his  brother  Antigonus,  whom  he  slew,  had 
added  the  greater  part  of  Itursea  to  Judaea,  compelling  the 
inhabitants  to  become  proselytes. 

The  death  of  Aristobulus  was  followed  by  the  troublous 
reign  of  Alexander  Janneus,  his  younger  brother,  who  was 
delivered  from  the  prison  into  which  Aristobulus  had  cast 
him,  by  Salome,  the  wife  of  that  prince.  Often  defeated,  he 
nevertheless  rose  again  from  his  reverses,  greatly  increased  the 
territory  of  the  Jews,  and  by  treaty  with  Aretas,  king  of  the 
Arabians,  induced  him  to  withdraw  his  troops  from  Judaea, 
and  retire  to  Ccelosyria,  a  portion  of  which  had  fallen  into  his 
possession  a  short  time  before. 

Alexander's  wife,  Alexandra,  obtained  rule  in  the  kingdom 
at  his  death,  after  a  reign  of  twenty-seven  years,  and  govern- 
ed with  great  power  and  little  scruple  during  nine  years  ;  but 
the  end  of  her  days  was  troubled  by  the  revolt  of  her  sec* 
ond  son,  Aristobulus,  who  sought  to  snatch  the  kingdom  from 
her  hands  and  from  those  of  his  brother  Hyrcanus.  At  her 
death,  Aristobulus  succeeded  in  possessing  himself  of  the 
royal  authority  and  the  high-priesthood,  torn  from  his  brother 
Hyrcanus,  who  agreed  to  leave  him  the  dangerous  elevation 
to  which  he  aspired,  and  to  retire  forever  into  a  private  sta- 
tion. 

It  is  at  this  period  of  the  Jewish  history  that  there  first  ap- 
pears, in  a  prominent  light,  a  man  of  courage  and  abilities, 
whose  family  was  destined  to  play  a  prominent  part  in  some 
of  the  great  tragedies  of  the  world.  Antipas,  or  Antipater, 
was  an  Idumsean  by  birth.  By  some  he  is  asserted  to  have 
been  lineally  descended  from  a  Jewish  family  of  distinction, 
carried  away  in  the  Babylonish  captivity ;  but  it  would  ap- 


3G0  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

pear  that  such  was  not  really  the  case,  and  that  he  was  mere- 
ly an  Idumaean  proselyte  of  great  wealth  and  talent.  Before 
the  death  of  Alexander,  he  had  married  an  Idumsean  lady, 
named  Cypres,  who  bore  him  four  sons,  Phasael,  Herod,  Jo- 
seph, and  Pheroras,  and  one  daughter,  named  Salome.  He 
had  been  greatly  esteemed  by  Alexander  and  by  his  wife  Al- , 
exandra,  and  had  held  considerable  offices  in  Idumaea  under 
their  several  reigns.  In  these  offices  he  had  cultivated  the 
friendship  of  the  neighboring  Arabs,  and  had  entered  into 
strict  alUance  with  their  king,  Aretas. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Aristobulus,  however,  An- 
tipater  was  in  Jerusalem,  a  sincere  and  ardent  friend  of  Hyr- 
canus.  Doubtless  he  served  his  own  ambition  in  serving  that 
prince ;  but  yet,  during  a  long  course  of  years,  he  showed 
greater  truth  and  sincerity  in  his  friendship  than  was  usually 
met  with  in  those  corrupt  and  anarchical  times.  Indignant 
at  the  usurpation  of  Aristobulus,  and  grieved  at  the  inactivity 
of  Hyrcanus,  Antipater  labored  to  light  some  spark  of  ambi- 
tion in  the  bosom  of  the  latter.  By  dint  of  much  persuasion, 
he  at  length  induced  him  to  fly  with  him  from  Jerusalem  by 
night,  to  the  court  of  Aretas,  the  neighboring  king,  and  to 

'^  beseech  that  monarch's  aid  in  the  recovery  of  his  kingdom. 

^  Aretas  was  then  residing  at  Petra  ;  and  thither  the  two  fugi- 
tives directed  their  steps,  having  taken  care  to  secure  a  favor- 
able reception  by  previous  negotiation. 

After  much  entreaty,  Aretas  was  prevailed  upon  to  enter 
Judaea  at  the  head  of  fifty  thousand  men,  for  the  purpose  of 
restoring  Hyrcanus  to  his  throne.  He  defeated  Aristobulus  in 
battle,  won  a  great  part  of  his  army  from  him,  and  besieged 
him  in  Jerusalem.  He  was  forced,  however,  to  raise  the 
giege  by  the  Roman  Scaurus,  who  was  bribed  by  Aristobu- 
lus ;  and  the  dispute  between  the  two  brothers  was  subse- 
quently referred  to  Pompey  the  Great,  when  he  visited  Da- 

\mascus.     Antipater  conducted  the  cause  of  Hyrcanus  against 

'  his  brother  Aristobulus,  and  performed  the  task  with  great 
skill  and  judgment,  winning  the  good  will  of  Pompey,  al- 
though he  could  not  obtain  an  immediate  decision  in  favor  of 
Hyrcanus. 

The  imprudence  of  Aristobulus,  however,  produced  the  ef- 
fect which  Antipater  desired  and  probably  anticipated.  His 
preparations  for  resisting  the  Roman  power  soon  reached  the 
ears  of  Pompey,  who,  in  consequence,  forced  him  to  give  up  a 
number  of  fortresses.  He  then  retired  to  Jerusalem,  and  there 
continued  proceedings  evidently  tending  toward  hostilities  with 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  361 

Rome.  But  on  the  approach  of  Porapey  he  took  fright,  vis- 
ited that  great  general  in  his  tent,  and  offered  to  give  his  sol- 
dier's admission  into  Jerusalem.  The  soldiers,  whom  he  had 
himself  collected,  however,  refused  to  permit  the  execution  of 
his  promise,  and  shut  their  gates  against  a  detachment  of  the 
Romans  sent  to  take  possession  of  Jerusalem.  Thereupon 
Pompey  threw  Aristobulus  into  prison,  and  obtained  posses- 
sion of  the  city  itself  by  means  of  one  of  the  factions  into 
which  the  Jews  were  divided.  The  Temple,  indeed,  forming 
a  strong  citadel  in  itself,  still  held  out,  garrisoned  by  the  sol- 
diers of  Aristobulus.  That  building,  however,  was  taken  by 
assault,  and  the  holy  places  profaned  by  the  blood  of  the  Jews 
and  the  footsteps  of  the  infidel. 

After  this  victory  Pompey  acted  with  great  moderation,  ab- 
stained from  touching  the  vast  treasures  of  the  Temple,  caus- 
ed it  to  be  cleansed  and  purified,  and  restored  the  high-priest- 
hood to  Hyrcanus.  He  rendered  Judesa,  however,  tributary 
to  Rome,  and  carried  away  with  hira  as  prisoners  Aristobulus 
and  his  family,  consisting  of  two  sons  and  two  daughters. 
The  eldest  of  these  sons,  named  Alexander,  made  his  escape 
by  the  way,  and  for  many  years  carried  on  a  desultory  war- 
wiih  the  Romans.  Antigonus,  the  younger  son,  accompanied 
his  father  to  Rome,  but  afterward  played  an  important  part 
ill  the  affairs  of  Judaea.  Scaurus  remained  with  two  Roman 
legions  in  the  command  of  Coelosyria.  In  the  struggles  which 
afterward  succeeded  between  Alexander,  the  son  of  Aristobu- 
lus, and  the  Pwomans,  Antipater,  faithful  to  Hyrcanus,  gave 
great  assistance  on  all  occasions  to  his  allies,  and  contrived  to 
maintain  the  closest  friendship  both  with  Scaurus  and  Ga- 
binius.  The  latter  officer,  after  having  gained  great  glory  in 
Judaea,  was  succeeded  by  Crassus,  one  of  the  most  covetous  of 
the  Roman  leaders.  His  only  act  of  note  while  in  Judaea  was 
the  pillaging  of  the  Temple,  before  he  set  out  upon  his  ill- 
omened  expedition  against  the  Parthians. 

The  result  of  his  iniquitous  attempt  to  subdue  a  nation 
which  had  given  no  offense  to  Rome  is  well  known.  He  was 
misled  by  his  guides,  and  surrounded  and  defeated  by  the  Par- 
thians, who  slew  him  without  mercy  during  a  conference,  and 
are  said  to  have  poured  molten  gold  down  his  throat  in  con- 
tempt for  his  insatiable  greediness.  Thirty  thousand  Pwoman 
soldiers  were  lost  in  this  disastrous  expedition ;  but  Cassius 
the  quaestor  contrived  to  effect  his  escape  with  a  small  body 
of  cavalry,  and  successfully  defended  the  Syrian  border  against 
the  irruptions  of  the  Parthians. 

Q 


362  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

Not  long  after,  the  civil  war  broke  out  between  Pompey  and 
Csesar ;  and  the  latter/setting  free  Aristobulus,  sent  him  into 
Syria  with  two  legions  to  overthrow  the  party  of  Pompey  in 
Judaea.  He  was  poisoned,  however,  very  shortly  after  his  ar- 
rival ;  and  his  son  Alexander  was  also  put  to  death,  by  Pom- 
pey's  order,  at  Antioch.  His  wife  and  daughters,  with  his 
younger  son  Antigouus,  found  refuge  with  Ptolemy  of  Chalcis. 

In  the  war  between  Pompey  and  Cajsar,  Antipater  dis- 
played the  utmost  dexterity,  avoiding  the  enmity  of  both  ; 
and  after  the  success  of  the  latter,  and  the  death  of  his  former 
friend,  he  rendered  great  and  important  services  to  Caesar  in 
his  expedition  against  Egypt.  Mithridates  of  Pergamos,  in 
his  march  to  join  Julius  in  Egypt,  had  been  stopped  at  As- 
calon,  by  the  opposition  of  the  people  of  the  country  ;  but  he 
was  speedily  joined  by  Antipater  at  the  head  of  three  thousand 
armed  Jews ;  and  his  influence  with  both  the  people  of  Pal- 
estine and  the  Arab  princes  in  the  neighborhood  proved  even 
more  serviceable  to  Mithridates  than  this  re-enforcement.  His 
military  skill  and  great  courage  were  now  displayed  in-  a  re- 
markable manner.  Marching  on  along  the  sea-shore,  Mith- 
ridates advanced  into  Egypt  without  any  further  opposition, 
till  he  reached  the  town  of  Pelusium,  to  secure  which  place 
was  an  important  object  with  Caesar.  The  town  made  a 
vigorous  defense  ;  but  Antipater,  with  his  Jewish  and  Syrian 
troops,  effected  a  breach  in  the  walls,  and,  pouring  into  the  city, 
opened  the  way  for  the  rest  of  the  army.  A  large  tract  of 
country,  however,  between  Magdolum  and  Memphis,  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  Jewish  population,  which  showed  the  strongest 
determination  to  prevent  the  junction  of  Mithridates  and  Cee- 
ear.  The  diplomatic  skill  of  the  Idumaean  was  now  called 
into  play ;  and  in  a  very  short  space  of  time  he  contrived  to 
bring  over  the  whole  of  the  emigrant  Hebrews  to  the  party 
of  Caesar.  A  battle  succeeded  between  Mithridates  and  the 
Egyptian  troops ;  and  in  it  the  wing  commanded  by  Mithri- 
dates himself  was  completely  defeated,  with  the  loss  of  eight 
hundred  men.  Antipater,  however,  who  commanded  the  left 
wing  of  the  army,  not  only  defeated  the  body  of  troops  opposed 
to  him,  but,  turning  upon  those  who  had  proved  victorious 
over  Mithridates,  he  routed  them  with  great  slaughter,  and 
took  their  camp.  After  a  junction  had  been  effected  with 
Caesar,  he  continued  to  distinguish  himself  greatly  in  the  war, 
and  was  highly  honored  and  caressed  by  the  mighty  Roman. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  glorious  career  that  Antigonus, 
the  son  of  Aristobulus,  thought  fit  to  appeal  to  Caesar  against 


HEROD   THE   GREAT.  8M 

one  who  had  just  rendered  him  such  important  services.  He 
charged  Antipater  with  having  caused  Aristobulus  to  be  poia,- 
6ned  and  Alexander  to  be  beheaded,  and  laid  many  grievous 
complaints  both  against  him  and  Hyrcanus  for  the  misgovern- 
ment  of  the  Jewish  people.  But  the  Idumaean,  who  was  pres- 
ent, rose  and  defended  himself  with  great  eloquence.  The 
sentence  of  the  Roman  tribunal  was  in  his  favor  ;  and  Csesar, 
confirming  Hyrcanus  in  the  high-priesthood,  left  Antipater  to 
choose  what  principality  he  would  receive  as  a  reward  for  his 
services.  The  Idumaean  immediately  fixed  upon  Judaoa ;  and 
he  was  named  procurator,  with  leave  to  rebuild  the  walls  of 
Jerusalem,  which  had  been  cast  down  by  Pompey. 

The  conquest  of  Egypt  being  complete,  Caesar  hastened  to 
reduce  Pontus,  Armenia,  and  Cappadocia,  in  which  Pharna- 
ces,  the  son  of  Mithridates  the  Great,  was  waging  a  vigorous 
and  successful  war  against  Rome.  Antipater  accompanied 
Julius,  at  all  events,  to  the  frontiers  of  Syria,  and  then  re- 
turning to  Judaea,  quieted  some  factions  which  had  arisen  in 
Jerusalem,  rebuilt  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  assumed  the  mil- 
itary government,  leaving  to  Hyrcanus  all  the  rights  and  priv- 
ileges of  the  high-priesthood.  Hyrcanus,  however,  was  a  sloth- 
ful and  indifferent  man,  and  a  mere  machine  in  the  hands  of 
Antipater. 

In  order  to  rule  the  country  with  greater  facility,  and  witL 
a  view  to  the  future  aggrandizement  of  his  family,  Antipater 
nominated  his  eldest  son,  Phasaelus,  governor  of  Jerusalem 
and  the  surrounding  countrj'^,  and  bestowed  upon  his  second 
son,  Herod,  the  fine  district  of  Galilee.  Both  were  very  young 
men,  and  both  sought  at  this  time,  by  an  honorable  rivalry,  to 
merit  the  love  and  respect  of  the  people  committed  to  their 
charge. 

Thus  much  it  has  seemed  necessary  to  say  of  Antipater  the 
Idumsean  and  his  family,  in  order  that  the  reader  may  be 
aware  of  the  events  which  first  raised  Herod  the  Great  from 
a  private  station  to  that  high  power  and  authority,  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  which  he  afterward  gained  a  dark  and  terrible  fame 
in  history. 


364        DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HEROD     THE     GREAT. 

The  Jewish  Sanhedrim  was  sitting  in  all  the  picturesque 
costume  of  the  East ;  and  busily  did  they  whisper  with  eager 
faces  one  to  the  other,  asking  still  each  of  his  fellow,  "  Will 
he  come  ?" 

On  the  outside  of  the  council  chamher  was  a  multitude  of 
people,  under  the  shadow  of  the  porticoes  or  of  the  great  build- 
ings, moved  by  all  those  factious  passions,  to  which  none  have 
been  more  terribly  made  slaves  than  the  giant-minded  race  of 
Israel.  There  were  the  clamor  and  the  confusion  of  a  thou- 
sand tongues,  all  the  wild,  fierce  gesticulation  of  the  East,  the 
screaming,  the  groaning,  the  shouting,  the  chattering,  which 
may  often  be  seen  in  an  Oriental  crowd  on  very  small  occa- 
sions. 

This,  however,  was  no  small  occasion  ;  for  Herod,  the  gov- 
ernor of  Galilee,  notwithstanding  his  father's  vast  influence 
and  renown,  had  been  called  to  take  his  trial  before  the  great 
council  of  the  nation,  for  a  violation  of  the  Jewish  law.  The 
case  was  one  of  life  and  death ;  for  the  law  had  been  un- 
doubtedly violated  ;  and  a  bitter  faction  had  risen  up  against 
Antipater  and  his  children,  which  was  sure  to  strain  the  letter 
of  the  statute  to  the  utmost. 

"  No  man  could  be  put  to  death  in  Judaea  without  the 
solemn  sanction  of  the  Sanhedrim,"  so  said  the  law ;  and  Her- 
od, the  young  governor  of  Galilee,  had  undoubtedly  treated 
this  law  with  contempt.  The  people  without  argued  sharply 
with  one  another,  as  their  passions  or  their  interests  led  them, 
and  called  for  his  death  or  justified  his  conduct,  according  to 
their  party  and  their  prejudices. 

"  Why,  what  has  he  done  ?"  cried  one.  "  He  has  only 
performed  an  act  of  justice,  and  delivered  the  country  under 
his  rule  from  oppression." 

"  He  has  slain  Hezekias  I  he  has  slain  Hezekias  I"  scream- 
ed another ;  "  and  whether  Hezekias  was  bad  or  good,  mat- 
ters not^  for  he  had  no  right  to  put  him  to  death  without  the 
sanction  of  the  Sanhedrim." 


HEROD  THE   GREAT.  365 

"  But  Hezekias  was  a  robber,"  replied  others,  "  himself  a 
notorious  violator  of  the  law.  He  had  put  to  death  many 
without  authority." 

"  Still  he  could  not  be  justly  condemned  without  the  San- 
hedrim," said  another.  "  Whatever  were  his  crimes,  Herod 
was  not  his  judge,  and  ought  to  die  according  to  the  law." 

Thus  argued  the  crowd  ;  but  the  question  within  was  still, 
"  Will  he  come  ?"  and  many  doubted  it,  and  listened  eagerly 
for  any  sound  in  the  city  that  might  give  note  of  Herod's  ap- 
proach. 

At  length  there  was  a  loud  shout,  distant  and  dull,  but  still 
showing  that  something  had  greatly  moved  the  people ;  and 
it  was  repeated  nearer  and  more  near,  till  the  crowd  from 
without  began  to  flow  into  the  place  of  assembly,  women,  whose 
husbands  had  perished  with  Hezekias,  tearing  their  garments 
and  appealing  for  justice,  and  others  with  the  prying  eye  of 
curiosity,  and  others  moved  by  faction  and  by  prejudice.  Still 
there  was  a  roar  and  a  shout  without,  and  many  of  the  San- 
hedrim turned  pale. 

One  asked  another,  "  Is  he  a  man  of  terrible  countenance'?" 
for  few  were  there  who  had  seen  Herod,  and  few  even  of 
those  remembered  him. 

A  moment  after,  a  band  of  armed  men,  several  hundreds 
in  number,  with  breast-plate  and  helmet,  and  sword  and  spear, 
came  into  the  area,  and  thronged  the  ^pen  space  before  the 
tribunal.  The  eyes  of  the  judges  ran  over  the  troop,  seeking 
for  the  mighty  man  who  in  a  few  short  weeks  had  freed 
Galilee  from  the  great  band  of  plunderers  which  had  so  long 
oppressed  it.  But  the  soldiers  parted  on  either  side,  and  from 
the  midst  approached,  and  stood  before  the  Sanhedrim,  a  fair 
and  beautilul  youth,  unarmed,  but  clothed  in  a  long  purple 
robe  of  the  finest  and  most  costly  texture.  He  seemed  hardly 
to  have  reached  manhood  ;*  but  upon  his  broad  and  lofty 
brow  was  the  firm  dignity  of  mental  power  and  high  courage. 
There  was  no  dread,  there  was  no  hesitation,  although  he 
stood  there  to  be  judged  for  life  or  death.  Calmly  and  firmly 
he  rolled  his  dark  eye  over  the  elders  of  the  people  ;  and  when 
no  one  spoke,  he  said  aloud,  "  You  have  summoned  Herod. 
Herod  is  here  I"     .. 

Still  the  Sanhedrim  sat  voiceless.  Dread  and  doubt  seemed 
to  have  taken  possession  of  them  all.     They  looked  upon  one 

*  The  age  of  Herod  at  this  period  is  uncertain.  In  one  account  he  is 
said  to  have  been  under  sixteen ;  but  after  dates,  given  in  Josephus, 
would  lead  us  to  believe  that  he  was  several  years  older. 


360  DARK   SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

another ;  but  no  one  spoke.  There  was  a  profound  silence  * 
The  accusers  were  dumb  ;  the  very  cries  of  the  mothers,  whose 
robber  sous  he  had  slain,  were  stilled;  and  he  stood  several 
minutes  before  the  council  ere  any  one  ventured  to  speak. 

At  length  Simeon,  the  son  of  Shetaoh,  called  Semeas,  rose. 
He  was  an  old  man,  righteous  and  fearless,  who  had  seen 
many  a  heavy  day  pass  over  Jerusalem,  and  knew  the  hearts 
of  the  rulers  well.  He  saw  that  Herod's  boldness  would  ab- 
solve him,  and  he  was  resolved  to  raise  his  voice  against  it. 

"Hearken,  you  who  are  judges  with  me,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Neither  I  nor  any  of  you,  I  suppose,  have  known  such  a  case 
as  this,  that  one  summoned  to  take  his  trial  here  ever  stood 
before  us  in  such  a  manner.  Every  one  who  comes  to  be  tried 
by  this  council  presents  himself  with  submission,  shows  fear 
and  dread,  strives  to  move  us  to  compassion  in  a  mourning 
garment,  and  with  hair  disheveled  ;  but  this  great  man  Her- 
od, called  to  answer  a  heavy  accusation,  and  accused  of  mur- 
der, stands  here  clothed  in  purple,  with  his  armed  men  around 
him.  If  we  condemn  him  by  our  law,  he  may  put  us  to  death, 
and  himself  escape  it.  Nevertheless,  Herod  himself  I  do  not 
so  much  complain  of  in  this  matter,  for,  of  course,  he  is  more 
careful  to  preserve  himself  than  the  laws  ;  but  I  complain  of 
you  and  of  your  ruler,  who  have  allowed  him  thus  to  act. 
But  take  you  notice  that  God  is  great,  and  this  very  man, 
whom  you  are  about ^o  acquit  and  suffer  to  go  free  on  account 
of  Hyrcanus,  your  high-priest,  will  one  day  punish  both  you 
and  him." 

The  speech  had  its  efiect.  A  murmur  ran  through  the 
assembly  ;  and  men  said  to  one  another,  "  Let  us  do  justice 
on  this  man  Herod,  be  the  result  what  it  may." 

Voices  were  about  to  be  raised  for  judgment,  if  not  for  jus- 
tice, for  Herod  had  violated  the  Jewish  law,  by  slaying  men 
taken  in  actual  crime,  without  the  decision  of  the  Sanhedrim. 
Such  was  his  only  offense ;  but  the  Sanhedrim  was  tenacious 
of  its  power  ;  and  all  the  Jews  were  sticklers  for  the  letter  of 
the  law.  But  at  this  moment,  when  an  adverse  decision  was 
most  likely  to  be  given,  the  high-priest  rose  and  adjourned  the 
further  proceedings  till  the  following  day. 

Herod  retired  to  his  house,    and  the  high-priest  to  his 

•  The  Jewish  rulers  seem  to  have  been  more  struck  by  Herod's  pre- 
senting himself  gorgeously  appareled  rather  than  in  the  weeds  of  hu- 
miliatioD,  than  by  the  body  of  armed  men  who  accompanied  him.  These 
were  not  very  numerous,  sufficieutly  so,  indeed,  to  insure  his  personal 
•afety,  but  not  to  endanger  the  government  or  the  security  of  thie  town. 


HEROD   THE   GREAT.  367 

palace  ;  but  when  Hyrcanus  was  alone  in  his  own  chamber, 
he  took  out  of  his  scrinium  a  letter  which  had  reached  his 
hands  that  morning,  and  read  once  more  the  words  that  it 
contained. 

"  Know,  O  Hyrcanus,"  so  ran  the  last  lines  of  the  letter, 
"  that  if  thou  dost  give  way  to  the  madness  of  this  stiff  necked 
people  in  this  thing,  and  they  do  evil  unto  Herod,  the  son  of 
Antipater,  thy  friend,  I  will  bring  an  army  upon  Jerusalem, 
and  take  the  power  out  of  thine  hands,  and  severely  punish 
the  people  of  thy  city,  even  as  it  has  deserved." 

It  was  signed  with  the  name  of  Sextus  Caesar,  president 
of  Syria  ;  and  the  warning  was  not  lost  upon  Hyrcanus,  whose 
sense  of  gratitude  was  less  strong  than  his  sense  of  fear.  Mes- 
sengers from  the  ethnarch  reached  Herod  that  night  beseech- 
ing him,  for  the  love  of  Hyrcanus,  to  quit  the  city,  and  not  to 
appear  before  the  Sanhedrim  again. 

The  youth  smiled  proudly,  and  murmured  to  himself,  "  If  I 
do,  it  shall  be  with  an  army." 

Within  an  hour,  he  and  his  men  of  war  mounted  their 
horses,  and  marched  deliberately  out  of  Jerusalem,  taking  the 
way  toward  Damascus. 

Tumult  and  confusion  spread  through  the  holy  city  ;  the 
council  of  seventy-one  murmured  loudly  against  Hyrcanus  for 
suffering  Herod  to  escape.  They  were  more  bold  in  his  ab- 
sence than  in  his  presence ;  and  they  said,  "  What  was  in 
this  beardless  boy  that  we  should  have  feared  him  ?"  but  ere 
many  days  were  over,  there  came  a  rumor  of  war  from  the 
north.  Men  said  that  Herod  was  created,  by  Sextus  Csesar, 
general  of  the  Roman  army  of  Coelosyria,  and  that  his  legions 
were  already  in  motion  toward  Jerusalem.  Each  man  who 
came  from  Galilee,  or  Batanaea,  or  Samaria,  brought  tidings 
of  moving  armies  and  troops  advancing  to  the  south  ;  and  still 
the  name  of  Herod  was  on  every  one's  lips ;  and  fear  filled 
the  hearts  of  the  factious  and  the  turbulent.  Some  talked  of 
resistance,  and  of  raising  armies  too  ;  but  when  Herod  was 
heard  of  at  Gamela,  and  his  troops  crossed  the  Jordan  and 
entered  Samaria,  and  when  Judaea  itself  was  entered,  and  the 
armed  men  reached  Beroth  and  Gibeon,  terror  took  possession 
of  all ;  and  men  went  and  besought  Antipater  and  Phasaclus 
to  take  means  for  defending  the  city.  The  answer  was,  "  Can 
I  fight  against  my  own  son  whom  ye  have  sought  to  oppress  ?" 
"Can  I  fight  against  my  own  brother,  whom  ye  have  wrong- 
ed ?" 

At  the  prayer  of  Hyrcanue,  however,  Antipater  and  his 


368*  DARK   SCEiNES   OF    HISTORY. 

eldest  son  went  forth  to  meet  Herod,  and  to  intercede  for  peace. 
They  found  the  young  man,  the  general  of  a  mighty  army 
ready  to  obey  his  lightest  word,  and  eager  for  the  pillage  of 
Jerusalem.  They  found  him  fierce  and  angry  too,  his  look 
proud  and  his  spirit  vehement. 

"  Think  they,"  he  asked,  *'  that  they  can  deal  with  Herod 
like  a  common  malefactor,  and  summon  him  before  their  coun- 
cil, and  judge  him  to  death  for  not  obeying  all  the  forms  of 
their  law  ?  When  their  law  was  impotent  against  the  mur- 
derer and  the  robber,  and  the  common  pillager  of  the  land, 
with  my  own  right  hand  I  took  him,  with  my  own  hand  I 
slew  him,  and  put  to  death  the  companions  of  his  crimes. 
For  this  have  I  been  disgraced  in  the  sight  of  men,  by  stand- 
ing as  a  criminal  before  their  tribunal ;  and  verily  I  will  wipe 
away  the  stain,  even  though  it  be  with  their  own  blood." 

But  the  voice  of  his  father  was  powerful  with  him ;  and 
Antipater  found  means  to  pacify  him,  and  made  him  see  that, 
having  shown  the  people  of  Jerusalem  his  power,  it  was  suf- 
ficient to  overawe  them  for  the  future.  Herod  was  persuaded 
that  he  would  gain  more  glory  by  sparing  the  city  than  by 
punishing  the  Jews ;  and,  having  arrayed  his  troops  within 
sight  of  the  walls,  he  turned  back  on  his  way,  and  left  Jeru- 
salem at  peace. 


CHAPTER  n. 

HEROD    THE    GREAT. 

War  and  confusion  spread  throughout  the  Roman  empire. 
Ceesar  was  slain  in  the  Capitol ;  innumerable  factions  arose  ; 
and  Syria  became  one  scene  of  anarchy.  Cassius  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Asian  province,  and  with  ten  legions  exacted  heavy 
contributions  from  the  people. 

Faithful  to  the  policy  which  he  had  always  followed,  An- 
tipater, without  taking  any  decided  part  in  the  wars  between 
the  Roman  factions,  supported  the  power  which  was  predom- 
inant. His  policy  was  successful.  Cassius  and  Marcus  both 
beiriended  the  Idumajan  family ;  and  once  more  Herod  was 
made  general  of  the  forces  of  CoBlosyria.  We  find  a  whisper 
in  history,  that  already  Cassius  had  promised,  if  successful 


HEROD    TUB    C4REAT.  369 

in  the  war  with  the  triumvirs,  to  make  Herod  King  of 
JudsBa. 

Bat  a  great  loss  was  about  to  befall  Herod.  The  only  pow- 
er which  had  acted  as  are  straint  upon  his  ambition  was  to  be 
taken  away.  Antipater  was  poisoned  at  a  banquet  by  one 
named  Malichus ;  and  the  cup  was  administered  by  the  but- 
ler of  Hyrcanus  himself 

Herod  was  resolved  upon  revenge  ;  but  there  was  much 
difficulty  in  accomplishing  it  without  provoking  a  civil  war. 
Malichus  was  protected  by  Hyrcanus ;  the  Jews,  and  even 
the  people  of  Galilee,  believed  they  had  been  treated  more 
mildly  by  him  than  by  Herod,  in  the  levy  of  contributions  to 
the  Romans  ;  and  Malichus  boldly  denied  all  share  in  Antip- 
ater's  murder,  and  afleeted  to  mourn  for  him  as  a  friend. 
Herod  was  forced  to  dissemble  ;  and,  pretending  to  believe  the 
declarations  of  his  enemy,  he  determined  to  try  his  power  be- 
fore he  used  it.  He  boldly  approached  Jerusalem  at  the  head 
of  a  body  of  armed  men.  Admission  was  refused  him  by 
Hyrcanus,  at  the  instigation  of  Malichus  ;  but  Herod  treated 
the  commands  he  received  with  scorn,  and  entered  the  holy 
city  with  his  troops.  He  abstained  from  slaying  Malichus  in 
Jerusalem,  indeed  ;  but  he  laid  a  trap  for  him,  and,  inducing 
him  to  proceed  to  Tyre,  had  hun  slain  upon  the  sea-shore  as 
he  was  approaching  the  city. 

The  power  of  Herod  remained  great  and  increasing.  An- 
tigonus,  the  son  of  Aristobulus,  supported  by  a  Roman  army, 
attempted  to  gain  possession  of  Judsea ;  but  Herod  defeated 
and  expelled  him  ;  and  Hyrcanus,  with  his  own  hand,  put  a 
garland  on  his  head  as  his  best  friend  and  protector.  The  al- 
liance between  them  was  confirmed  by  the  espousals  of  Herod 
and  the  beautiful  Mariamne,  daughter  of  Alexander,  son  of 
Aristobulus.  She.  was  also  grand-daughter  of  Hyrcanus  him- 
self Herod  had  previously  married  an  Idumaean  lady  named 
Doris,  by  whom  he  was  already  the  father  of  one  son  named 
Antipater. 

Notwithstanding  the  glory  he  had  acquired,  notwithstand- 
ing the  services  he  had  really  rendered  the  Jews,  notwith- 
standing the  moderation  which  he  had  shown  in  many  things, 
and  to  attain  to  wliich,  with  his  vehement  and  imperious  dis- 
position, must  have  cost  him  a  great  effort,  Herod  was  still  an 
object  of  envy  to  many  of  the  Jewish  factions.  The  effects 
of  these  evil  passions  were  not  long  in  displaying  themselves. 

After  the  death  of  Cassius  and  Brutus,  while  Octavius 
CsDsar  turned  his  steps  toward  Italy,  Mark  Antony  took  his 

02 


370  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

way  to  Asia,  and  entered  Bithynia,  where  he  was  met  by 
deputations  from  many  of  the  Eastern  nations,  and  among  the 
rest  by  a  large  party  of  Jews.  Herod,  however,  was  before 
fhem  in  reaching  Antony,  who  was  in  some  degree  bound  to 
the  interests  of  his  family,  by  hospitality  received  at  the  hands 
of  Antipater,  when  the  triumvir  accompanied  Gabinius  into 
Syria  several  years  before.  Herod,  however,  did  not  trust  to 
the  gratitude  of  a  Roman.  He  knew  that  there  was  a  passion 
far  more  powerful,  and  that  he  did  not  fail  to  gratify.  He 
took  large  sums  of  gold  with  him,  and  Antony  became  his 
friend.  Hyrcanus  was  also  there,  ready  to  support  the  cause 
of  Herod  ;  and  all  was  prepared  to  meet  the  envious  accusa- 
tions of  the  Jewish  deputation,  as  soon  as  they  sliould  be  pub- 
licly preferred. 

Antony,  however,  whose  pleasure-loving  temper  was  already 
obtaining  the  mastery  over  his  powerful  mind,  refused  to  hear 
the  Jews  in  Bithynia,  and  marched  on  slowly  toward  Antioch. 
He  took  up  his  abode  in  the  pleasant  groves  of  Daphne,  near 
that  city ;  but  his  enjoyments  were  disturbed  once  more  by 
the  application  of  the  Jews,  who  sent  a  hundred  of  the  prin- 
cipal citizens  to  complain  of  Phasaelus  and  Herod,  accusing 
them  of  tyranny  and  injustice,  and  of  depriving  Hyrcanus  of 
all  real  power.  Several  of  the  Jewish  orators  were  put  for- 
ward to  plead  against  the  two  brothers  ;  but  Antony's  mind 
was  already  prepossessed,  and,  turning  to  Hyrcanus,  who  was 
present,  he  demanded  of  him  who  was  best  fitted  to  bear  sway 
in  the  land.  Hyrcanus  at  once  answered,  Herod  and  his 
brother  ;  and  Antony,  without  further  deliberation,  bestowed 
upon  the  two  brothers  the  tetrarchy  of  all  the  Jewish  terri- 
tories, which  he  had  already,  by  a  decree  from  Ephesus,  com- 
manded the  Roman  governors  established  by  Cassius  in  Syria 
to  restore  fully  and  entirely  to  the  Jews,  in  the  same  state 
and  to  the  same  extent  as  they  had  been  possessed  by  that 
people  before  the  commencement  of  the  war  between  the  re- 
publicans and  the  triumvirate. 

This  decision  astonished  and  irritated  the  anti-Herodian 
faction.  They  broke  out  into  loud  and  insolent  murmurs 
against  a  man  round  whose  footstool  was  gathered  a  crowd  of 
suppliant  kings  and  princes  ;  and  Antony,  who  was  only  mild 
when  he  was  left  to  enjoy  his  luxury  undisturbed,  seized  fifteen 
of  the  embassadors,  and  drove  away  the  rest  with  contumely. 
The  fifteen  prisoners  he  ordered  to  be  put  to  death ;  but  they 
were  spared  at  the  intercession  of  Herod,  whose  young  heart 
had  not  yet  been  hardened  by  years  of  strife  and  suffering. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  371 

If  he  hoped  by  moderation  to  -win  the  Jews  to  submission  and 
gratitude,  he  was  much  mistaken  ;  for  a  tumult  of  indignation 
broke  forth  in  Jerusalem,  and  when  Antony  paused  for  a  short 
time  at  Tyre,  as  he  rushed  on  eagerly  to  the  arms  of  Cleopa- 
tra, a  new  deputation,  consisting  of  a  thousand  of  the  Jews, 
reached  that  city,  in  order  to  oppose,  in  a  threatening  manner, 
the  decree  which  he  had  pronounced. 

They  were  met  by  Herod  and  Hyrcanus  on  the  seashore, 
and  entreated  to  forbear  from  following  a  course  which  could 
only  bring  ruin  and  destruction  on  themselves  and  their  coun- 
try. But  argument  and  persuasion  were  equally  in  vain. 
The  host  of  embassadors  became  clamorous  and  vehement ; 
and  Antony,  enraged,  sent  a  party  of  soldiers  to  drive  them 
away  from  the  city,  slaying  all  on  whom  they  could  lay  hands. 
Many  were  killed,  many  were  wounded,  and  the  fifteen  who 
had  been  before  made  prisoners  were  now  put  to  death.  Still 
the  Jews  continued  in  a  state  of  tumult  and  confusion ;  and 
after  Antony  marched  on  into  Egypt,  Jerusalem  and  Judaea 
were  one  scene  of  anarchy  and  bloodshed. 

The  moment  of  Herod's  greatest  danger  was  now  approach- 
ing. When  Antony  entered  Asia,  with  eight  legions  and  ten 
thousand  horse,  it  had  been  his  intention  to  march  against  the 
Parthians,  the  most  dangerous  enemies  of  the  Syrian  province. 
The  charms  of  Cleopatra,  however,  overcame  all  considera- 
tions of  ordinary  prudence  ;  and  his  wise  purpose  was  aban- 
doned as  soon  as  he  had  beheld  her  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Cydnus.  After  his  departure,  and  during  the  confusion  that 
ensued  while  he  remained  in  Egypt,  the  danger  which  had 
menaced  Syria  from  the  Parthians  fell  upon  it.  Pacorus,  the 
son  of  the  Parthian  king,  entered  the  land  at  the  head  of  a 
large  force,  and  speedily  made  himself  master  of  a  great  part 
of  the  country.  Dividing  his  army  into  two  bodies,  he  him- 
self marched  along  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  while  the 
second  division,  under  Barzapharnes,  a  celebrated  general 
among  the  Parthians,  advanced  through  the  midland  parts 
of  Syria,  both  forces  tending  toward  Judaea.  The  confusion 
in  the  latter  country  was  great,  as  I  have  shown  ;  and  it  was 
increased  by  the  re-appearance  of  Antigonus,  the  son  of  Aris- 
tobulus,  on  the  scene,  supported  by  his  connection,  Ly^anias, 
the  son  of  Ptolemy,  king  of  Chalcis,  who  had  always  espoused 
the  interests  of  his  family.  Antigonus  raised  his  standard  on 
the  side  of  Mount  Carmel,  in  the  immense  woodland  of  the 
mountain  called  Drumos.  He  was  speedily  joined  by  a  large 
body  of  insurgent  Jews,  and  now  negotiated  with  the  Parthi- 


372  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

ans  for  their  assistance,  offering  them  the  somewhat  singulf 
bribe  of  a  large  sum  of  money  and  fivd  hundred  women.    Tb  j 
negotiation  was  conducted  by  Lysanias;  and  the  Parthians 
agreed  to  expel  Hyrcanus,  and  restore  the  kingdom  of  Judaea 
to  Antigonus.  - 

Fortified  by  this  treaty,  the  Jews  of  the  party  of  Antigonus ' 
hurried  forward  from  Carmel  to  Jerusalem,  gained  an  entrance 
into  the  city,  and  besieged  Hyrcanus  in  the  palace.  But  Pha- 
saelus  and  Herod  both  hastened  to  the  assistance  of  their 
friend ;  a  battle  took  place  in  the  market-place ;  the  insur- 
gents were  defeated,  and  a  large  body  of  thern  driven  into  the 
Temple. 

In  this  fortress  they  continued  to  hold  out ;  and  Herod  placed 
a  small  body  of  men  in  the  neighboring  houses,  to  insure  that 
his  enemies  did  not  escape,  while  he  endeavored  to  pacify  the 
city,  and  restore  some  degree  of  order.  His  efforts  were  vain, 
however  ;  a  number  of  the  disaffected  took  arms,  attacked  the 
houses  in  which  his  soldiers  had  been  stationed,  and  burned 
them,  together  with  the  men  which  they  contained.  Herod, 
in  revenge,  fell  upon  his  opponents,  and  slew  a  great  number ; 
and  day  after  day,  for  several  weeks,  the  streets  of  Jerusalem 
flowed  with  human  blood.  The  party  of  Phasaelus  and  Her- 
od, however,  gradually  obtained  an  ascendency  ;  and  Herod, 
with  his  troops,  garrisoned  the  palace  and  the  buildings  adja- 
cent, while  Phasaelus  was  master  of  the  walls  and  principal 
towers  of  the  city. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  the  feast  of  Pentecost 
arrived  ;  and  a  vast  multitude  of  Jews  from  the  country  flocked 
into  Jerusalem.  Many  came  to  the  feast  armed ;  and  into 
their  hands  the  charge  of  the  Temple  was  given,  while  a  body 
of  the  troops  of  Antigonus,  which  had  possession  of  the  suburb, 
were  attacked  and  defeated  by  Herod  with  great  slaughter. 

At  this  moment  a  small  body  of  Parthians,  whose  treaty 
with  Antigonus,  it  would  seem,  had  been  kept  secret,  appeared 
before  Jerusalem,  headed  by  the  cup-bearer*  of  the  Parthian 
prince  Pacorus.  This  officer,  in  secret  concert  with  Antigo- 
nus, offered  to  mediate  between  the  contending  parties  in  the 
city,  and  requested  admission  for  that  purpose.  His  train  con- 
sisted only  of  five  hundred  horse  ;  and  Hyrcanus,  judging  that 
80  small  a  troop  could  not  be  dangerous,  granted  his  request ; 
but  the  wily  Parthian  did  not  propose  to  attain  his  object  so 
much  by  force  as  fraud.     He  wound  himself  into  the  confi- 

*  His  name  was  also  Pacorus,  which  has  been  the  occasion  of  some 
confusion  in  the  history  of  these  transactions. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT:  373 

dence  of  Hyrcanus  and  Phasaelus,  and  persuaded  them  that 
their  only  chance  of  obtaining  peace  and  tranquilHty  lay  in 
their  accompanying  him  to  negotiate  with  Barzapharnes,  who 
was  now  advancing  toward  Jerusalem. 

Herod  saw  through  the  meditated  treachery  at  once,  and 
eagerly  besought  his  brother  not  to  trust  himself  in  the  hands 
of  the  barbarians,  but  rather  to  take  arms  with  him,  and  ex- 
pel them  from  the  city,  or  put  them  to  death.  Phasaelus  and 
Hyrcanus,  however,  remained  firm  in  their  foolish  confidence, 
perhaps  strengthened  in  their  trust  by  the  proposal  of  leaving 
two  hundred  Parthians  in  the  hands  of  Herod. 

They  accompanied  the  Parthian  leader,  then,  with  a  con- 
siderable train,  among  which,  it  would  appear,  were  several 
women.  For  a  considerable  distance  on  the  way  they  were 
treated  with  every  kind  of  distinction  ;  and  it  was  only  when 
they  reached  Galilee  that  they  began  to  entertain  doubts  of 
the  good  faith  of  their  companions.  The  whole  country  was 
in  a  state  of  insurrection  and  confusion ;  attacks  were  made 
upon  them  where  they  encamped  for  the  night ;  and  at  the 
town  of  Ecdippon,  a  short  distance  beyond  Ptolemais,  they  re- 
ceived distinct  information  of  the  treaty  between  Antigonus 
and  the  Parthians,  with  an  intimation  that  the  women  in  their 
company  were  to  form  part  of  the  five  hundred  slaves  promised, 
and  that  they  themselves  would  have  been  seized  long  before, 
had  it  not  been  the  design  of  the  Parthians  to  entrap  Herod 
also,  by  tidings  of  the  good  treatment  which  they  received. 

It  would  appear  that  Phasaelus  could  now  have  effected 
his  escape,  and  that  one  of  his  companions,  named  Ophellius, 
who  had  been  the  first  to  discover  the  plot,  earnestly  entreat- 
ed him  to  do  so.  The  son  of  Antipater,  however,  nobly  re- 
fused to  forsake  Hyrcanus  ;  and  going  to  the  Parthian  leader, 
he  boldly  reproached  him  with  his  treachery,  and  offered,  if 
the  Parthians  would  abandon  the  cause  of  Antigonus,  to  pay 
them  a  much  larger  sum  than  that  which  had  been  promised. 
The  cup-bearer,  however,  declared  and  swore  that  the  intelli- 
gence which  Phasaelus  had  received  was  false  ;  but  the  same 
night  he  set  out  for  the  camp  of  his  lord  ;  and  no  sooner  was 
he  gone  than  both  Phasaelus  and  Hyrcanus  were  seized  by 
the  Parthian  guard.  They  were  immediately  delivered  by 
the  Parthians  into  the  hands  of  Antigonus  ;  and  the  conduct 
of  each  was  in  accordance  with  his  character. 

When  brought  into  the  presence  of  his  nephew,  Hyrcanus 
fell  upon  his  knees  before  him,  abjectly  beseeching  mercy. 
The  brutal  Antigonus,  though  he  eould  not  resolve  to  put 


374  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

him  to  death,  took  means  to  prevent  his  ever  exercising  the 
office  of  high-priest  again,  by  tearing  ofi"  his  ears  with  his  own 
teeth,  for  no  mutilated  man  could  hold  the  dignity. 

Phasaelus  was  cast  into  prison  in  bonds ;  but  he  showed  no 
fear  and  no  depression,  although  he  was  well  aware  of  the 
merciless  nature  of  his  adversary.  He  had  no  sword  to  slay 
himself,  nor  could  he  have  used  it  had  a  weapon  been  left 
him,  for  his  hands  were  tightly  bound ;  but,  resolved  not  to 
endure  the  indignities  which  were  hkely  to  be  heaped  upon 
him,  he  deliberately  dashed  his  head  against  the  stone  wall 
of  the  dungeon  ;  and  thus,  at  an  early  age,  ended  a  life,  in  the 
whole  course  of  which  we  find  no  evil  act  recorded.* 


CHAPTER  III. 

HEROD    THE    GREAT. 

The  palace  of  the  ethnarch  was  fortified  and  garrisoned 
like  a  citadel.  There  were  armed  men  in  it  sufficient  for  its 
defense ;  there  was  a  fountain  of  clear  water  in  the  court- 
yard ;  there  was  abundance  of  provision.  But  Herod  was 
uneasy.  Hour  after  hour  he  walked  to  and  fro  in  that  great 
court,  even  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  while  his  men  of  war,  with 
their  arms  ready  at  hand,  lay  stretched  under  the  porticoes 
round.  The  tall,  powerful  form  moved  gracefully;  every  step 
of  those  strong  limbs  was  planted  firmly  ;  but  yet  there  was 
anxious  care  upon  his  lofty  brow ;  and  ever  and  anon  he 
muttered  some  indistinct  words  to  himself  Never  did  he 
pass  the  gates  of  Jerusalem  ;  seldom  did  he  even  go  out  into 
the  city  ;  and  when  he  did  so,  he  was  always  accompanied  by 
at  least  a  hundred  chosen  soldiers.  He  was  surrounded  on 
every  side  by  treachery  and  enmity  ;  and  Herod  was  not  a  man 
to  be  taken  unprepared. 

Ten  days  had  passed  since  the  departure  of  Hyrcanus  and 

*  Some  persons  say  that  Phasaelus  was  not  actually  killed  by  the 
blow,  but  that  Antigonus  sent  a  physician  to  him,  on  the  pretense  of 
healing  his  wound,  bat  with  orders  to  infuse  poison  into  it,"  under  the 
influence  of  which  Phasaelus  expired.  A  poor  woman,  who  was  at- 
tending upon  him,  according  to  this  account,  informed  him,  a  few  min- 
utes before  his  death,  that  Herod  had  escaped  from  Jerusalem;  upon 
which  ho  «xclaimed,  "  Now  I  die  content,  for  there  is  one  left  alive 
who  will  avenge  mo  of  mine  enemies."  ^ 


HEROD   THE  GREAT.  375 

Phasaelus ;  and  more  than  once  letters  had  reached  the  hands 
of  Herod  from  Samaria  and  Galilee.  The  first  told  of  honors 
and  kindness  shown  to  his  friends  by  the  Parthians ;  then 
came  others,  telling  of  ambushes  laid  for  the  high-priest  and 
his  companions  during  the  night ;  but  yet  the  Parthians 
were  said  to  have  befriended  and  defended  them.  Still  Herod 
doubted,  and  would  not  trust ;  and  oftentimes  he  repeated  to 
himself  the  name  of  his  well-loved  brother,  and  mournfully 
shook  his  head.  It  was  the  tenth  day  ;  and  in  the  morning 
some  of  the  Parthian  lords  presented  themselves  to  Herod, 
and  told  him  that  there  were  messengers  without  the  walls, 
bearing  letters  from  his  brother  Phasaelus  of  great  import, 
but  that  they  dared  not  enter  the  town  for  fear  of  the  party 
of  Antigonus.  They  besought  Herod  to  go  forth  with  them, 
and  meet  these  messengers  ;  but  Herod  replied, 

"  I  will  not  go  forth.  The  messengers  must  bring  them  to 
me,  if  they  would  have  me  see  them." 

The  Parthians  urged  and  persuaded  in  vain.  They  repre- 
sented that  he  had  the  prison-gate  and  the  water-gate  in  his 
own  hands,  and  that  he  could  be  in  no  danger ;  but  still  Herod 
replied,  "  I  will  not  go  forth." 

The  Parthians  departed  murmuring ;  and  hardly  had  they 
gone,  when  Alexandra,  the  widow  of  Alexander,  Aristobulus's 
son,  came  and  joined  Herod  by  the  fountain.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Hyrcanus,  the  mother  of  the  young  Mariamne,  a 
woman  of  great  wisdom  and  prudence,  who,  among  many  ter- 
rible events,  had  always  walked  wisely. 

"  Thou  hast  had  Parthians  with  thee,  my  son,"  she  said. 
"I  saw  them  come  as  I  sat  in  the  women's  apartments. 
What  sought  they  from  thee  ?" 

*'  They  would  have  me  go  forth,"  replied  Herod,  "  to  re- 
ceive letters  from  my  brother,  from  messengers  beyond  the 
walls.  They  say  the  men  are  afraid  to  enter  for  fear  of  the 
factions.  I  refused  to  go  forth,  for  I  know  the  guile  of  the 
barbarians ;  but  now  my  heart  smites  me,  lest  my  brother 
should  need  aid,  and  I  regret  that  I  have  not  gone." 

"  Go  not  forth,  my  son,  go  not  forth,"  replied  Alexandra. 
*'  There  is  treachery  in  these  men.  All  their  looks  are  de- 
ceitful ;  all  their  words  are  fraud.  Phasaelus  is  lost ;  Hyr- 
canus is  lost ;  if  we  lose  thee,  we  have  lost  all." 

Even  while  she  spoke,  a  man  was  admitted-  through  the 
gates  of  the  great  court,  heavy  and  travel-worn,  with  torn 
sandals  and  dusty  garments.  He  made  straight  for  Herod, 
though  Herod  gazed  at  him  as  a  stranger. 


87«  DARK   SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

"  Give  me  thine  ear,  oh  Herod,"  he  said,  in  a  faint  voice  ; 
and  Herod  withdrew  with  him  to  a  little  distance.  "  I  bring 
thee  news  from  Ecdippon,"  said  the  man*  "  Thy  brother 
Phasaelus  commends  him  to  you,  and  says  that  the  Parthians 
'  are  treacherous  ;  that  they  are  leagued  Avith  Antigonus,  who 
has  promised  them  a  thousand  talents  and  five  hundred  women 
slaves  if  they  will  make  him  King  of  Judaea.  They  meditate 
treachery  against  thee,  and  thy  brother,  and  Hyrcanus  ;  and 
even  when  I  came  away  to  Ptolemais,  the  report  ran  among 
the  people  that  Phasaelus  and  the  high-priest  were  in  bonds." 

"  Bringest  thou  no  token  ?"  asked  Herod.  "  Hast  thou  no 
letter?" 

"  None,"  rephed  the  man.  "  I  saw  thy  brother  but  for  a 
moment,  for  he  was  strictly  watched  of  the  Parthians  ;  and  I 
set  off  as  soon  as  might  be.  I  rod«  till  my  horse  died  by  the 
way.  The  rest  of  the  journey  I  made  on  foot ;  but  wait  till 
this  time  to-morrow,  and  thou  shalt  know  that  I  have  spoken 
truly." 

"  Wait  till  to-morrow  I"  repeated  Herod.  "  To-morrow 
has  its  tasks  as  well  as  to-day.  Come  hither  and  speak  with 
Alexandra." 

They  conferred  closely  for  many  minutes,  and  then  the  man 
was  taken  into  the  house  and  his  wants  cared  for ;  but  there 
was  activity  and  bustle  in  the  palace ;  and  the  gates  were 
close  shut,  nor  was  any  one  allowed  to  go  forth  except  a  few, 
especially  sent  by  Herod,  nor  any  to  come  in  but  men  with 
horses  and  some  who  brought  chariots  loaded  with  provisions 
or  with  arras.  The  Parthians  watched  these  tilings,  and  said 
among  themselves, 

"Herod  prepares  against  a  siege.  What  shall  we  do? 
Shall  we  raise  the  city  against  him,  and  encompass  him  in  the 
palace,  and  take  him  ?" 

Some  said  that  Herod  was  a  man  of  great  prudence  and 
great  courage,  and  that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  assail  him 
in  a  house  that  was  a  fortress  ;  and  some  said  that  he  was  too 
cunning  ever  to  suffer  himself  to  fall  into  their  hands  unawares ; 
and  some,  that  it  would  be  better  to  set  strong  guards  all  round 
the  palace,  and  force  him  to  surrender  by  hunger,  for  that,  all 
Syria  being  in  the  hands  of  the  Parthians,  and  the  Romans 
in  a  distracted  state,  no  help  could  come  to  him  till  the  palacef 
had  fallen.  -But  their  council  lasted  long  without  a  decision, 
and  night  fell  before  they  had  resolved  what  to  do. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  the  great  court  of  the  palace 
waa  filled  with  people,  and  with  horses,  and  with  wagons. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  377 

There  were  men  in  armor,  veteran  soldiers,  who  had  served 
in  many  a  war,  and  there  were  horsemen  Rightly  armed,  mer- 
cenaries from  different  lands,  but  brave  men  and  faithful,  and 
there  were  drivers  for  the  chariots  and  the  wagons,  and  a 
mixed  multitude,  some  with  arms,  and  some  without.  In 
darknesa  and  in  silence  came  forth  from  the  palace  into  the 
court  a  long  train  of  women  and  children,  Cypres,  the  mother 
of  Herod,  and  Alexandra,  Mariamne's  mother,  and  Mariamne 
herself,  with  many  others  of  high  and  low  degree.  Some 
carried  infants  in  their  arms  ;  some  led  their  children  by  the 
hand.  All  were  pale  and  trembling ;  and  the  only  sounds 
that  were  heard  were  those  of  the  moving  feet  and  of  weep- 
ing. Many  of  the  women  and  the  children  were  placed  in  the 
wagons,  and  the  rest,  who  were  young  and  bold,  were  mounted 
upon  horses  ;  and  then  the  voice  of  Herod  was  heard,  asking; 

"  Have  the  soldiers  from  the  ^ates  and  the  walls  drawn 
down  and  hned  the  way  from  the  palace,  a§  they  were  or- 
dered?" 

"It  is  done,  oh  Herod,"  answered  his  chief  officer  ;  "  and 
the  city  is  all  quiet  in  sleep." 

"  Then  we  will  depart,"  answered  Herod. 

But  the  officer  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Thou  hast  not  brought  out  the  treasures.  Thou  wilt  not 
leave  them  for  the  Parthians  ?" 

"  Fear  not,"  answered  the  tetrarch.  "  My  treasures  were 
all  safe  in  Idumsea  seven  days  ago  ;  and  so  are  the  treasures 
of  all  the  princes  who  go  with  me,  for  I  foresaw  what  would 
come,  and  provided  against  the  evil  day.  There  is  no  man 
who  goes  with  me  who  will  not  receive  a  hundred  drachms 
of  silver,  as  soon  as  we  pass  the  frontiers  of  Judaea.  Herod 
leaves  not  his  treasures  to  the  chances  of  war.  Now  mount, 
and  let  us  forward.  Weep  not,  Alexandra,  weep  not,  my 
mother,  for  sorrow  will  but  weaken  you  for  flight ;  and  in 
swift  flight  is  our  only  safety.  Be  of  good  heart,  and  go  for- 
ward speedily  with  those  who  are  given  you  to  protect  you, 
while  I  and  my  soldiers  follow  close  behind  and  stop  the 
enemy  if  he  pursues  you." 

In  darkness  and  silence  the  palace  gates  were  opened,  and 
the  sad  procession  moved  out,  taking  its  way  toward  the  prison 
gate  of  the  city.  Naught  was  to  be  seen  but  the  tall  houses 
and  blue  twinkling  sky  above,  and  a  long  line  of  armed  men 
on  either  side.  The  gates  were  open  ;  and  when  the  wagons 
and  light  horsemen  had  passed,  the  soldiers  who  lined  the 
streets  fell  into  their  order  and  followed ;  and  then  came  Herod 


378  DARK  SCENES   OK   HISTORY. 

and  his  armed  men,  leaving  the  palace  deserted.  The  feet  of 
the  horses  made  no  noise  on  the  dusty  road  ;  the  clang  of  the 
armor  seemed  to  rouse  no  one  in  the  city ;  and  onward  they 
went,  down  the  side  of  the  high  hill,  passing  between  the 
tomb  of  Isaiah  and  the  king's  garden  into  the  Valley  of  Je- 
hoshaphat.  They  passed  over  the  Brook  Kedron,  approaching 
the  Mount  of  OHves,  and  then  turned  away  toward  Idumeea, 
urging  their  flight  as  fast  as  their  numbers  would  permit. 

For  two  hours  all  was  still.  There  was  no  sound  of  pur- 
suit, no  appearance  of  their  flight  having  been  discovered  ;  and 
when  they  had  gone  about  eight  miles,  the  day  began  to  dawn 
just  as  they  reached  the  rocky  country  between  E-ama  and 
Bethphage.  It  was  then  that  a  cry  came  from  the  rear, 
"  The  enemy  are  in  pursuit,"  and  Herod  gave  eager  orders  to 
hurry  on  the  wagons,  which  were  winding  slowly  on  through 
a  narrow  stony  pass.  The  first  wagon  was  that  which  con- 
tained Cypres,  the  widow  of  Antipater,  with  some  of  her 
grandchildren,  and  several  Jewish  women.  The  driver  smote 
the  horses,  and,  starting  on,  they  dragged  the  wagon  over  a 
block  of  stone,  breaking  it  by  the  shock,  and  casting  it  over  on 
its  side.  There  rose  up  a  loud  scream ;  and  Herod,  when  he 
looked  to  the  south,  saw  his  mother  cast  headlong  on  the 
ground,  and  the  broken  wagon  blocking  up  the  way.  When 
he  looked  to  the  west,  he  saw  the  troops  of  Antigonus  crown- 
ing the  hill,  and  the  Parthian  horsemen  pouring  down  into 
the  valley. 

For  once  Herod  gave  himself  up  to  despair.  There  seemed 
no  way  of  escape  ;  and  drawing  his  sword,  he  would  have  slain 
himself  on  the  spot,  but  a  number  of  hands  seized  his  arm, 
and  the  voice  of  one  of  his  friends  exclaimed, 

"  What  wouldst  thou  do  ?  Is  it  the  act  of  a  brave  man  to 
geek  refuge  in  death,  and  leave  those  who  are  dear  to  him  in 
calamity  ?  Stay  with  us,  Herod,  and  lead  us  boldly  to  repel 
the  enemy." 

The  blood  mounted  into  Herod's  cheek  ;  and,  with  a  look 
of  shame,  he  arrayed  his  men  as  best  he  might,  raised  his 
mother  from  the  ground,  and  placed  her  in  another  car ;  or- 
dered the  broken  wagon  to  be  removed,  and  the  flight  of  the 
women  and  the  helpless  to  be  continued,  while  he  turned  to 
encounter  the  Parthians  and  their  allies.  He  met  them  in 
full  career,  and  drove  them  back  with  a  terrible  slaughter, 
for  he  and  his  fought  for  life  and  all  that  was  dear  to  them  ; 
and  when  he  returned  victorious,  he  found  the  wagons  and  the 
light  trooj>H  already  through  the  pass. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  379 

But  his  dangers  were  not  over.  The  Parthians  hovered 
round,  the  Jews  followed  close  behind,  every  hour  had  its 
skirmish,  every  mile  was  marked  by  bloodshed.  The  cities 
and  the  villages,  divided  into  the  same  factions  which  had 
afflicted  Jerusalem,  rose  in  arms  as  he  passed,  and  some  came  ' 
"to  give  him  aid,  while  others  went  to  swell  the  ranks  of  his 
enemies.  But  still  in  every  fight  Herod  was  victor.  At 
length,  rallying  in  large  numbers,  the  Jews  attacked  him  be- 
tween the  mountains  and  the  river,  and  forced  him  to  a  gen- 
eral battle ;  but  he  had  now  with  him  nine  thousand  men, 
and,  though  they  had  many  more,  he  defeated  them  utterly, 
and  forced  them  to  fly  in  confusion. 

This  was  their  last  great  efibrt  before  he  reached  the  front- 
ier of  Idumaea,  where  he  was  met  at  Thressa  by  his  brother 
Joseph,  with  a  small  body  of  horse.  The  strong-hold  of  Mas- 
sada,  Joseph  told  him,  was  prepared  to  receive  him  and  his 
troops,  amply  provided  both  with  food  and  water,  to  with- 
stand a  long  siege,  if  the  garrison  were  not  too  large,  and  the 
place  itself  was  impregnable  to  any  thing  but  famine. 

Herod  mused  ;  but  his  resolution  was  soon  taken.  Eight 
hundred  of  his  most  faithful  veterans  he  chose  for  the  guard 
of  Massada  ;  and  there  he  placed  the  women  and  the  chil- 
dren, together  with  every  sort  of  stores  and  treasures.  The 
rest  of  the  troops,  except  a  small  band  which  he  kept  with 
himself,  he  dispersed  through  Idumsea,  paying  each  man  lib- 
erally for  his  good  services,  and  supplying  him  with  means  to 
live  in  comfort  till  he  called  him  again  to  his  standard. 

Then  bidding  farewell  to  his  family,  Herod,  so  lately  the 
leader  of  mighty  hosts,  with  a  train  reduced  to  a  few  serv- 
ants and  soldiers,  hurried  away  toward  Petra  to  beg  assist- 
ance of  the  Arab  king,  on  whom  he  himself  and  his  family 
had  bestowed  innumerable  benefits,  and  to  whose  hands  he 
had  intrusted  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  his  treasures. 

Herod's  first  object  was  to  redeem  his  brother  Phasaelus 
from  the  hands  of  the  Parthians,  for  as  yet  he  knew  not  of 
his  death  ;  but  his  hopes  of  assistance  from  Arabia  were  soon 
blighted.  When  yet  at  some  distance  from  Petra,  he  was  met 
by  messengers  from  the  king,  commanding  him  to  advance  no 
further,  and  alleging  that  the  Parthians  had  enjoined  him  to 
give  no  shelter  or  assistance  to  Herod.  But  the  fugitive  well 
knew  that  it  was  fear  lest  he  should  demand  his  own,  rather 
than  apprehension  of  the  Parthians,  that  made  the  Arab  king 
forbid  his  approaxjh,  and  the  chief  men  of  the  Arabs  dread 
his  presence.     With  a  bitter  and  indignant  heart  he  turned 


y^ 


380  DARK  SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

away  from  the  perfidious  land,  and  took  the  road  to  Pelu- 
eium  to  seek  aid  of  Antony.  But  Antony  was  no  longer  in 
Egypt. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HEROD    THE     GREAT. 

The  Parthian  invasion  of  Syria  had  roused  Marcus  Anto- 
nius  from  the  lethargy  into  which  the  charms  of  Cleopatra 
had  thrown  him,  and  he  was  preparing  to  expel  the  har- 
barians  from  one  of  the  fairest  portions  of  his  allotted  em- 
pire, when  news  from  Italy  changed  the  destination  of  his 
armament. 

Long  before  Julius  CaBsar  took  possession  of  the  dictatorial 
power,  the  very  foundations  of  society  had  been  shaken  in  the 
Roman  republic.  Violence,  wrong,  lust,  rapine,  peculation, 
and  corruption  pervaded  the  city  and  the  field;  and  on  the. 
swords  of  the  soldiery  Julius  was  raised  to  authority,  which 
could  only  be  retained  by  himself  or  his  successors  by  concil- 
iating the  affections,  by  yielding  to  the  impulses,  and  giving 
way  to  the  passions  of  the  troops. 

After  the  death  of  the  dictator,  and  the  unsuccessful  strug- 
gle of  Brutus  and  Cassius  to  restore  a  republic  which  was 
rotten  at  the  heart  and  in  all  the  members,  three  men  of  dif- 
ferent characters  and  different  powers  parted  the  Roman  em- 
pire among  them.  The  struggle  of  tho  one,  though  neither 
the  weakest  man  nor  the  worst  soldier  of  the  three,  ^milius 
Lepidus,  was  to  retain  as  much  as  his  two  comrades  would 
aUow.  The  desire  of  the  second  was  to  enjoy  that  which  he 
had  obtained.  The  object  of  the  third,  Ceesar  Octavius,  was 
to  wrest  from  his  fellows  the  whole  power,  and  to  obtain  com- 
plete possession  of  the  Roman  empire.  Cautious  but  de- 
termined, active  though  considerate,  not  cruel,  but  utterly  re- 
morseless, he  had  learned  from  Antony,  in  their  first  struggles 
for  power,  the  only  sure  method  of  obtaining  it ;  and  no  soon- 
er was  his  great  colleague  lapped  in  the  luxuries  of  Egypt 
than  he  commenced  a  systematic  course  of  tampering  with 
the  legions,  and  showed  his  determination  to  found  a  new  em- 
pire upon  the  love  of  the  soldiery.  But  Antony  was  much 
loved  in  Italy.     His  military  successes  were  not  forgotten  ; 


HEROD   THE    GREAT.  381 

his  careless  profusion  was  admired  ;  and  hia  friends  in  Italy, 
while  they  sent  him  intelligence  of  the  proceedings  of  the  young 
but  crafty  Octavius,  spread  among  the  troops  an  assurance 
that  Antony  possessed  both  the  means  and  the  will  of  reward- 
ing them  even  more  largely  than  Cassar. 

No  sooner  did  Antony  hear  that  Fulvia  his  wife,  and  Lu- 
cius his  brother,  had  fled  to  Praeneste,  and  that  Perusia  had 
been  taken  and  burned  by  Csesar,  than  all  thought  of  the 
Parthian  war  was  abandoned  for  the  time,  and  his  efforts 
were  directed  taward  Italy.  With  two  hundred  ships  and 
a  large  army,  he  set  sail  from  the  shores  of  Egypt,  visited 
Athens,  and  shortly  after  appeared  before  the  port  of  Brun- 
disium,  on  the  coast  of  Apulia.  The  town  shut  its  gates 
against  him,  and  the  siege  was  commenced.  Caesar  marched 
to  the  relief  of  the  town,  and  a  conflict  between  the  two  ar- 
mies was  imminent.  The  soldiers  of  CaBsar's  army,  however, 
had  not  forgotten  their  love  for  Antony,  and  the  politic  youth 
found  it  necessary  to  negotiate.  PoUio  Maecenas  and  Nerva 
brought  about  a  reconciliation  ;  and  Antony  remained  in  Italy 
to  marry  the  gentle  Octavia,  Caesar's  sister. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  Roman  empire  when  Herod  ar- 
rived at  Rhinocolura,  and  took  up  his  abode  for  the  night  with 
his  followers  in  the  great  temple  there,  in  order  to  give  time 
for  a  number  of  his  attendants  whom  he  had  left  behind  to 
join  him.  When  they  arrived,  they  brought  him  the  sad  in- 
telligence of  his  brother's  death  ;  and  Herod,  who,  whatever 
might  be  his  faults,  was  full  of  strong  affections,  wept  bitterly 
for  Phasaelus.  From  Rhinocolura  to  Pelusium,  from  Pelu- 
sium  to  Alexandria,  though  not  without  diflliculties,  he  pur- 
sued his  way  in  safety.  At  Alexandria  Cleopatra  strove  to 
detain  him,  and  offered  him  the  command  of  her  troops  ;  but 
Herod  had  greater  objects  in  view,  and  sailed  away  in  search 
of  Antony.  Driven  by  a  storm  to  Rhodes,  he  there  met  with 
friends  and  assistants,  and,  embarking  in  a  larger  ship,  set 
sail  for  Brundisium. 

Before  he  reached  that  port,  peace  had  been  agreed  upon 
between  Antony  and  Caesar,  and  the  former  had  gone  on  to 
Rome.  Thither  Herod  followed  him,  and  was  received  with 
all  the  kindness  he  expected.  He  laid  before  the  triumvir  his 
hapless  fate  ;  he  told  him  how  his  brother  had  been  betrayed 
and  died,  how  he  himself  had  been  forced  to  fly  from  Jerusa- 
lem, and  how  the  Parthians  had  made  Hyrcanus  captive ; 
he  told  him  that  Antigonus  had  made  a  treaty  with  the  ene- 
mies of  Rome,  had  by  their  means  obtained  possession  of  Jeru- 


382  DARK   SCEiNES    OF    HISTORY. 

salem,  and  made  himself  King  of  Judaea,  and  that  to  obtain 
their  assistance  he  had  promised  them  a  thousand  talents  and 
five  hundred  Jewish  women  chosen  from  the  best  families  of 
the  nation.  He  informed. him,  also,  that  all  his  nearest  and 
his  dearest  kindred  were  shut  up  in  the  fortress  of  Massadon, 
in  hourly  danger  from  the  enemy ;  and  he  besought  him  to 
give  him  speedy  comfort  in  his  distress. 

Antony  was  much  moved  with  the  tale,  remembering  Her- 
od's services  and  attachment ;  nor  was  Caesar  less  willing  to 
show  himself  his  friend,  for  he,  as  well  as  Antony,  could  not 
but  look  upon  Antigonus  as  a  declared  enemy  of  the  Romans. 
But  short  consultations  were  needed,  for  these  two  men  had 
the  whole  power  of  the  state  in  their  hands. 

Herod,  if  restored  to  power,  or  invested  with  greater  au- 
thority than  before,  was  likely,  from  his  great  abilities  and 
miconquerable  courage,  to  be  of  vast  service  to  the  Romans 
in  the  Parthian  war,  to  carry  on  which  Ventidius  had  been 
already  sent  to  Syria  ;  and  the  Senate  having  been  convoked, 
Herod  was  introduced,  and  two  orators  enlarged  upon  the 
benefits  which  he  had  conferred  upon  Rome,  represented  An- 
tigonus as  an  open  enemy  of  the  empire,  and  lauded  the  cour- 
age and  the  prudence  of  the  tetrarch.  The  merits  of  his  fa- 
ther, Antipater,  were  not  forgotten  ;  and  Antony  gave  point  to 
the  insinuations  of  the  orator  by  declaring  that  Herod  should 
be  made  the  King  of  Judaea.  Caesar  took  the  same  view ; 
the  Senate  unanimously  assented ;  and  the  decree  was  regis- 
tered in  the  Capitol.*  Great  honors  were  shown  to  Herod  ; 
when  the  Senate  rose,  he  issued  forth  between  Antony  and 
Caesar,  and  the  same  night  he  was  feasted  royally  by  Antony. 

So  rapidly  were  all  these  transactions  conducted,  that  he  is 
said  to  have  been  only  seven  days  in  Italy.  This  statement 
may  possibly  be  correct ;  but  if  so,  the  fact  is  a  marvel,  for 
the  journey  from  Brundisium  to  Rome  is  long,  and  the  trans- 
actions which  he  had  to  negotiate  were  important.  Howbeit, 
Herod  set  out  on  his  return  to  Judaea  as  soon  as  possible,  ac- 
companied by  several  officers  deputed  by  Mark  Antony  to  es- 
tablish him  in  the  kingdom  which  the  Romans  had  assigned 
to  him.  Among  the  rest  was  the  well-known  and  infamous 
Delius,  who  was  charged  to  give  the  new  king  every  kind  of 

*  JosephuB  contradicts  himself  in  this  place,  saying  that  Herod  gave 
Antony  money  to  make  him  king,  nnd,  not  many  lines  further  on,  as- 
serting that  he  did  not  come  Nvitn  the  hope  or  intention  of  obtaining 
the  kmgdom  for  himself,  bat  for  the  brother  of  his  espoused  wife,  Ma- 
riamne.  » 


^:' 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  383 

support,  and  to  enjoin  upon  the  Roman  commanders  in  Syria 
the  duty  of  aiding  him  in  arms,  should  it  bo  necessary. 

Herod  landed  at  Ptolemais  ;  but  the  intelligence  he  there 
received  might  have  daunted  any  man  less  bold.  Massada 
was  besieged  by  the  troops  of  Antigonus  and  his  Parthian  al- 
lies. Ventidius,  after  having  marched  into  Judaea,  had  retrod 
his  steps,  on  receiving  bribes  from  Antigonus,  and  had  left 
Silo  with  a  small  body  of  troops  behind  him,  rather  for  the 
purpose  of  extracting  further  gifts  from  Antigonus  than  to 
maintain  the  Roman  power  in  the  country.  Silo,  it  was  said, 
had  already  been  largely  bribed,  and  was  covertly  in  league 
with  Antigonus,  so  that  a  hostile  army,  two  faithless  allies, 
and  a  distracted  population  were  before  him. 

Nevertheless,  Herod  boldly  set  up  his  standard  at  Ptole- 
mais ;  and  round  the  little  force  he  had  brought  from  Rome 
he  soon  gathered  together  an  army  of  mercenaries  and  volun- 
teers, sufficient  to  enable  him  to  commence  the  war.  The 
Galileans  flocked  to  him  in  immense  numbers,  remembering 
the  happiness  they  had  enjoyed  under  his  sway  ;  and  Delias, 
by  his  exhortations,  contrived  to  bring  over  both  Ventidius 
and  Silo,  nominally,  if  not  heartily,  to  the  party  of  Herod, 
who  soon  took  the  field  at  the  head  of  an  imposing  force.  A 
number  of  Roman  legionaries  strengthened  his  host ;  and, 
marching  by  the  sea-side,  he  approached  Jerusalem. 

Joppa  was  the  only  town  which  seems  to  have  offered  re- 
sistance ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  straits  to  which  Massada 
was  reduced,  Herod  prudently  resolved  to  leave  no  strong 
place  behind  him  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy.  Joppa  was  ac- 
cordingly besieged  and  taken,  and  Herod  then  advanced  by 
rapid  marches  toward  the  Holy  City.  Silo  then,  who  was  at 
the  time  either  in  Jerusalem  or  its  neighborhood,  retreated  to 
effect  his  junction  with  Herod,  according  to  the  orders  he  had 
received ;  but  the  Jews  of  the  party  of  Antigonus  followed 
him  in  great  numbers,  harassed  his  rear,  and  most  probably 
would  have  destroyed  his  army,  had  not  Herod,  by  a  rapid 
movement  in  advance,  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  Romans, 
and  delivered  Silo  in  his  difficult  and  dangerous  retreat. 

The  united  forces  then  advanced  to  Massada,  bringing  suc- 
cor to  the  garrison,  which  was  by  this  time  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted. For  many  months  the  place  had  been  strictly  block- 
aded ;  and  although  provisions  were  still  plenty,  water  had 
at  one  time  entirely  failed,  from  the  excessive  drought  of  the 
summer.  Every  thing  around  was  dried  up,  and  even  Joseph, 
Herod's  younger  brother,  who  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the 


384  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

fortress,  meditated  flying  from  it  with  a  choice  troop  of  war- 
riors, and  leaving  the  rest  of  the  garrison,  and  the  unhappy 
women  within,  to  their  fate.  Rain,  however,  fell  at  length  : 
the  little  cloud,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  swelled  till  it 
canopied  the  whole  sky,  and  the  plentiful  torrent  descended, 
filling  the  cisterns  of  the  fortress.  Not  long  after,  Herod  ap- 
peared before  Massada,  and  the  siege  was  raised. 

Vengeance  and  dominion  seemed  now  before  him,  and  he 
turned  his  arms  against  Jerusalem,  with  Silo  in  his  company  ; 
but  the  perfidious  Roman  had  received  the  money  of  Antigo- 
nus,  and  the  siege  was  abandoned,  from  a  pretended  want  of 
provisions.  Still  Herod  was  not  inactive.  Jericho  was  taken  ; 
Joseph  was  sent  into  Idumsea  to  protect  that  country  against 
Antigonus  ;  and  Herod  himself,  proceeding  through  Samaria, 
entered  Galilee,  to  recover  the  towns  which  had  been  taken 
by  the  enemy. 

In  the  whole  of  that  district  anarchy  had  now  reached  its 
height.  Not  only  was  the  country  divided  between  two 
factions,  but  enormous  bands  of  robbers  overran  the  land, 
plundering  all  parties  alike.  Their  principal  resort  was  in 
the  rocky  ground  in  the  neighborhood  of  Arbela,  hard  by  the 
River  Kison.  In  the  neighboring  mountains  are  deep  valleys 
surrounded  almost  entirely  by  precipices,  apparently  inacces- 
sible. The  gigantic  walls  of  these  valleys  are  pierced  with 
numerous  deep  caves,  only  to  be  reached  lirom  below  by  nar- 
row paths,  over  rocks  which  might  scare  the  mountain  goat, 
and  surmounted  by  perpendicular  or  beetling  clifis  some  hund- 
reds of  feet  in  height.  These  caves  had  been  for  many  years 
the  resort  of  the  tribes  of  robbers  I  have  mentioned,  perhaps 
I  might  say  for  many  centuries,  for  it  is  not  improbable  that 
this  spur  of  Antilibanus  is  the  position  noted  for  strength 
in  the  Old  Testament,  under  the  name  of  the  hills  of  the 
robbers. 

By  this  time,  in  the  anarchy  and  confusion  which  reigned 
in  the  country,  the  banditti  had  increased  so  greatly,  and  had 
organized  themselves  so  completely,  that  they  ventured  to 
meet  the  army  of  Herod  in  its  march  against  them,  and  de- 
feated one  division  near  the  village  of  Arbela  before  he  him- 
self appeared  on  the  field.  His  arrival,  however,  turned  the 
tide  of  battle.  The  robbers  were  totally  routed,  and  fled,  the 
greater  part  taking  their  way  along  the  Valley  of  Jezreel, 
toward  the  Jordan,  while  the  rest  took  refuge  in  their  caves. 
Herod  pursifed  the  first  division  as  far  as  the  banks  of  the 
river,  and  then  received  the  submission  of  all  Galilee,  pro- 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  385 

viding  for  the  accomraodatiou  of  the  Roman  troops  under  Silo, 
whom  the  treacherous  Antigonus,  after  having  bribed  to  in- 
activity, tried  to  starve  out  of  Judsea  by  cutting  off  all  sup- 
plies of  provisions.  To  Herod,  whom  he  had  betrayed  and 
jfrustrated,  Silo  now  came  as  a  supphant ;  and  Herod,  with 
royal  bounty,  amply  provided  him  with  all  he  required,  and 
gave  him  quarters  in  the  town  of  Alexandrium,  in  Samaria, 
which  he  caused  to  be  rebuilt  under  his  brother,  Pheroras. 

The  war  against  the  Parthians,  in  Syria,  was  still  proceed- 
ing under  Ventidius,  who  required  aid  to  conclude  the  struggle 
with  Pacorus ;  and  Herod,  trusting  to  his  own  courage  and 
forces,  sent  away  Silo  to  the  Roman  general  early  in  the 
spring,  while  he  himself  went  away  to  expel  the  bands  of 
robbers  who  had  found  refuge  in  the  caves.  The  position 
which  they  occupied  presented  what  might  have  seemed  in- 
superable difficulties  to  any  commander  of  less  energy  and  re- 
source than  Herod.  To  attack  them  from  below  was  impos- 
sible, for  one  man  could  have  defended  the  approach  against 
thousands ;  but  Herod  contrived  a  means  of  assailing  them 
from  above. 

Before  he  had  recourse,  however,  to  the  dangerous  and  ter- 
rible means  he  employed,  he  descended  into  the  valley  him- 
self, and  caused  a  pardon  to  be  proclaimed,  by  a  herald,  to  all 
who  would  submit.  Many  took  advantage  of  the  offer  ;  but 
there  were  many,  also,  among  these  fierce  and  savage  men, 
who,  trusting  to  the  strength  of  their  rocky  fortress,  set  the 
king's  whole  force  at  defiance.  In  order  to  reach  them,  Her- 
od caused  engines  to  be  raised  at  the  top  of  the  precipices 
above,  and  large  chests  or  stages  for  fighting  to  be  construct- 
ed, and  let  down  to  the  mouths  of  the  caves  by  iron  chains. 
These  chests  or  stages  were  filled  with  armed  men,  fnrnished 
with  darts  and  fire  to  cast  into  the  caverns,  and  long  iron 
hooks  to  pull  out  the  robbers  from  their  dens,  and  cast  them 
down  the  rocks. 

A  terrible  slaughter  took  place  as  the  soldiers  were  moved 
from  cave  to  cave  ;  and  a  number  of  the  robbers,  terrified  at 
this  new  mode  of  warfare,  came  out  and  claimed  the  pardon 
that  was  offered.  One  old  man,  however,  resisted  to  the  last. 
In  his  cave  he  had  a  wile  and  seven  children ;  and  Herod, 
who  was  watching  the  operations  from  below,  and  perceived 
the  anxiety  of  the  youths  and  their  mother  to  come  forth  and 
submit,  touched  with  pity,  stretched  forth  his  hands  to  the  old 
robber,  and  besought  him  to  yield,  offering  him  every  assur- 
ance of  safety.    But  the  stern  old  man  continued  in  the  cave's 

R 


386  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

mouth ;  and  one  by  one,  as  each  child  came  forth  from  the 
narrow  aperture,  he  slew  him  with  his  own  hand,  railing  at 
Herod,  and  reproaching  him  with  his  Idumaean  birth.  At 
length  he  slew  his  wife  also,  and,  casting  the  dead  bodies  down 
the  precipice,  took  the  same  fatal  plunge  himself,  and  was 
dashed  to  pieces. 

An  act  of  friendship  and  gratitude  soon  after  called  Herod 
to  a  distant  part  of  Syria.  It  would  be  tedious  to  trace  even 
briefly  the  career  of  Antony,  which  ended  in  the  loss  of  fame, 
fortune,  and  life.  Suffice  it,  he  had  now  jpassed  over  into 
Asia,  and  had  been  for  some  time  waging  war  against  the 
Parthians,  who  had  committed  aggressions  upon  Armenia. 
But  little  success  had  attended  his  efforts  ;  and  Antony  loudly 
called  for  the  presence  of  his  allies,  although  we  find  that  he 
was  supported  by  an  army  of  at  least  a  hundred  thousand 
men.  Nevertheless,  Ventidius,  after  the  defeat  and  death  of 
Pacorus,  detached  two  legions  and  a  body  of  horse  to  the  as- 
sistance of  Herod,  under  a  leader  named  Macherus,  who  seem- 
ed well  inclined  to  play  the  part  of  Silo.  Herod,  however, 
resolved  not  to  fail  in  his  duty  toward  Antony  ;  and,  leaving 
Macherus  and  his  own  brother  Joseph  in  command  of  a  large 
Roman  and  Jewish  force,  in  order  to  keep  Antigonus  in  check, 
he  hurried  to  the  north  of  Syria  with  all  the  troops  which 
could  be  spared  from  Palestine. 

Antony  was  at  this  time  besieging  the  small  town  of  Samos- 
ata,  situated  on  a  bend  of  the  Euphrates,  not  far  from  the  foot 
of  Mount  Taurus,  and  between  Mount  Amanus  and  the  riv- 
er. It  had  hitherto  frustrated  all  his  efforts  ;  and  some  large 
bodies  of  auxiliaries,  which  had  been  collected  at  Antioch, 
were  deterred  from  joining  him  by  the  presence  of  large  bod- 
ies of  Medes  and  Parthians,  who  occupied  the  narrow  gorges 
of  the  mountains,  and  slew  all  who  attempted  to  pass. 

To  Antioch  Herod  hurried  in  the  first  instance ;  and  the 
presence  of  one  who  had  already  gained  so  much  renown  in- 
spired the  auxiliaries  with  fresh  courage.  Herod  at  once  un- 
dertook to  conduct  and  defend  them  on  the  way.  The  army 
proceeded  in  two  divisions,  Herod  remaining  with  the  last,  to 
defend  the  rear  in  case  of  attack.  All  passed  quietly,  how- 
ever, till  the  troops  were  descending  from  the  mountains  into 
the  plain  of  the  Euphrates,  but  there,  amid  the  woods  which 
covered  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills,  a  body  of  Parthians  had 
been  placed  in  ambush,  who  fell  upon  the  first  division  of  the 
auxiliaries,  routed  them  completely,  and  obtained  possession 
of  all  their  baggage.    Herod,  however,  was  near  at  hand,  and 


HBEOD    THE    GREAT.  387 

his  arrival  at  once  turned  the  fortunes  of  the  day.  Attacking 
the  enemy  furiously  while  they  were  engaged  in  plundering, 
he  gave  them  a  total  defeat,  slew  immense  numbers,  recover- 
ed the  baggage  and  the  slaves,  and  rallying  the  fugitives  of 
his  first  division,  pursued,  with  energy  and  success,  the  scat- 
tered Parthians,  so  as  to  leave  the  country  between  Antioch 
and  Samosata  completely  clear  of  the  enemy. 

The  news  of  his  victory  reached  the  camp  of  Antony  before 
his  arrival,  and  he  was  received  by  the  triumvir  with  the 
greatest  distinction  and  every  mark  of  friendship.  Herod  aid- 
ed greatly,  we  are  assured,  in  the  reduction  of  Samosata,  and 
the  termination  of  the  war.  As  soon  as  the  city  had  fallen, 
Antony,  still  under  the  influence  of  Cleopatra,  retired  to  Egypt, 
while  Sosius  was  left  to  restore  order  in  Syria ;  and  Herod 
marched  back,  with  his  own  forces  and  two  Roman  legions, 
toward  Judaea,  where  a  great  misfortune  had  befallen  him 
during  his  absence. 

In  leaving  his  brother  Joseph  with  Macherus  in  Judaea, 
Herod  had  warned  him  not  to  engage  in  any  great  enterprise, 
as  no  reliance  was  to  be  placed  upon  his  ally.  Joseph,  how- 
ever, neglecting  his  brother's  advice,  marched  against  Jericho, 
with  the  aid  of  some  Roman  troops.  Getting  entangled  in 
the  mountains,  he  was  attacked  by  the  forces  of  Antigonus, 
under  the  command  of  one  Pappus,  defeated,  and  slain,  with 
the  greater  part  of  his  troops.  His  young  brother  Pheroras, 
who  was  in  Samaria  at  the  time,  offered  to  ransom  the  dead 
body  of  his  brother  from  Antigonus ;  but  that  brutal  prince 
refused  to  part  with  it,  and  ordered  the  head  to  be  struck  off. 
Encouraged  by  this  defeat,  the  greater  part  of  Galilee  rose 
against  Herod's  officers,  seized  his  partisans  wherever  they 
could  find  them,  and  drowned  them  in  the  Lake  of  Tiberias. 

Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  his  kingdom  when  Herod 
marched  back  from  Samosata.  Innumerable  perils  befell  him 
on  the  way  ;  but  fortune  did  not  desert  him.  He  was  every 
where  successful ;  and  his  escape  from  imminent  danger  was 
attended,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  by  circumstances  so  re- 
markable, that  the  imagination  of  an  excitable  people  saw  in 
his  preservation  the  special  protection  of  God. 

In  one  instance,  a  house,  where  he  had  been  sumptuously 
entertaining  the  commanders  of  his  forces,  fell  down  the  mo- 
ment after  he  had  left  it ;  and  in  a  battle  which  immediately 
followed  he  was  struck  on  the  side  by  a  dart,  which,  however, 
did  him  no  injury.  He  defeated  an  army  of  Antigonus  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Jericho ;  then  turned  rapidly  upon  Pappus, 


388  DARK   SCENES   OK   HISTORY. 

who  was  encamped  at  Isanas.  The  army  of  the  latter,  it 
would  appear,  was  much  superior  in  numbers  to  that  of  Her- 
od ;  but  the  king  attacked  him  without  delay,  defeated  him 
in  battle,  and  drove  his  soldiers  into  the  houses  of  the  small 
town.  Thither  he  pursued  them  ;  and,  finding  them  crowd- 
ed into  the  lower  rooms,  he  caused  his  soldiery  to  scale  the 
walls,  and  cast  down  the  roofs  upon  those  below.  Multitudes 
were  seen  lying  in  heaps,  thus  crushed  and  mangled,  and 
terror  and  confusion  spread  through  the  party  of  Antigonus. 
Pappus  was  found  dead  upon  the  field,  and  Herod  caused  his 
head  to  be  struck  oft^,  and  sent  it  to  his  brother  Pheroras  ;  but 
on  the  very  night  of  his  victory  he  had  once  more  a  marvel- 
ous escape. 

Weary  and  heated  with  his  exertions,  Herod,  while  his 
troops  refreshed  themselves,  sought  the  pubUc  bath,  followed 
by  one  servant  only.  Hardly  was  he  in  the  water,  and  total- 
ly without  arms,  when,  from  some  place  of  concealment  in  the 
baths,  out  rushed  an  armed  soldier  of  Antigonus ;  a  second 
and  a  third  followed,  with  their  naked  swords  in  their  hands, 
and  Herod's  life  was  completely  in  their  power.  But  such 
was  their  consternation  at  the  defeat  they  had  received,  and 
the  destruction  of  their  companions,  that  their  only  effort  was 
to  escape  ;  and  reaching  the  door  of  the  baths,  they  ran  away 
without  doing  any  injury  to  their  great  enemy. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HEaOD    THE    GREAT. 

There  is  an  army  camping  under  the  walls  of  Jerusalem, 
and  Herod's  men  are  many  ;  but  the  city  boldly  resists,  and 
Antigonus  shows  no  sign  of  fear.  On  the  same  spot,  over 
against  the  Temple,  where,  seven-and-twenty  years  before, 
Pompey  raised  his  standard,  is  now  the  standard  of  Herod, 
and  Roman  legions  are  with  his  host ;  but  where  is  Herod 
himself  ? 

There  are  great  rejoicings  in  Samaria,  and  the  town  is 
filled  with  the  songs  of  musicians,  and  with  the  merriment  of 
the  revelers ;  and  Herod  stands  in  his  royal  robes,  and  Mari- 
amne  in  her  bridal  garments — he  in  the  pride  and  strength 


HEROD  THE  GREAT.  HI 

of  his  maturity,  and  high  renown  and  glorious  deeds,  and  shl 
in  the  brightness  of  her  young  beauty  and  her  royal  race. 

Years  have  passed  since  their  espousals,  and  now  she  is 
given  to  him  indeed  ;  and  all  rejoice,  Alexandra  her  mother, 
and  Joseph,  Herod's  uncle,  and  Aristobulus,  her  young  brother, 
and  Salome  and  Pheroras.  Oh,  fatal  marriage  !  Oh,  sad  re- 
joicing !  How  many,  there  laughing,  shall  soon  weep  !  How 
many,  looking  forward  to  joy  and  dominion,  shall  be  cast  ab- 
ject to  the  ground  I  How  many,  full  of  life  and  energy,  shall, 
when  a  few  short  years  have  passed,  lie  moldering  in  a  bloody 
grave  !  The  beautiful  and  the  bright,  and  the  strong  and  the 
bold,  the  vdse  and  the  virtuous,  the  finger  of  Fate  is  upon 
them  all,  marking  them  out  for  early  destruction. 

Who  that  gazes  upon  the  broad  brow  of  Herod,  lighted 
up  with  love  and  satisfaction,  can  see  there  the  frown  of  the 
stern,  remorseless  tyrant,  which  is  coming  fast  ?  Hitherto, 
although  streams  of  blood  may  have  flowed  along  his  path,  it 
was  blood  shed  in  open  and  honorable  warfare ;  hitherto  he 
has  seemed,  in  the  eyes  of  all  men,  a  man  of  strong  affections 
and  much  pity,  often  forgiving,  often  moved  to  tenderness, 
loving  with  the  whole  strength  of  a  strong  spirit,  fond  of  bat- 
tle and  of  war,  but  abhorring  all  needless  cruelty.  The  time 
is  coming,  however,  when  all  this  will  be  changed  under  the 
influence  of  ambitfon  and  success. 

The  rejoicings  are  over  ;  Mariamne  is  his  ovni ;  the  Roman 
troops  are  sweeping  by  on  their  long  march  from  Samosata,  to 
aid  him  in  recovering  Jerusalem.  His  forces  under  the  walls 
are  nearly  trebled  by  the  arrival  of  Sosius  ;  and,  abandoning 
his  pleasures,  Herod  carries  on  the  siege  vigorously.  The  en- 
gines are  raised  ;  the  battering-rams  ply  the  fortifications  ;  the 
blocks  of  stone  are  hurled  ;  mines  are  dug  beneath  the  walls  ; 
eleven  Roman  legions,  a  large  army  of  Jews  and  Syrians,  and 
many  thousand  horse,  sweep  round  the  city,  and  cut  oft'  its 
supplies,  while  they  themselves,  by  Herod's  care  and  diligence, 
revel  in  abundance  of  every  thing. 

Forty  days  have  passed  in  incessant  attacks  ;  and  at  length 
the  outer  wall  is  taken.  Twenty  chosen  men  mount  first  into 
the  breach  ;  the  centurions  follow  after  ;  and  now  Herod  and 
the  Romans  attack  the  second  wall.  But  fifteen  days  only 
are  consumed  ere  that  is  won.  The  cloisters  of  the  Temple 
are  in  flames  ;  the  outer  court  is  won  ;  the  lower  city  is  in  the 
hands  of  Herod  ;  the  followers  of  Antigonus  take  refuge  in  the 
upper  city,  and  in  the  inner  court  of  the  Temple.  Still  Her- 
od shows  himself  mild.     He  beseeches  his  enemies  to  abandon 


390  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

a  vain  resistance  ;  he  offers  them  mercy  ;  he  even  suffers  thera 
to  bring  in  cattle  for  their  sacrifices.  But  when  he  finds  that 
they  only  use  the  permission  in  order  to  recruit  their  powers 
against  him,  the  general  assault  is  ordered,  and  the  besieging 
army  pours  in  over  every  obstacle.  Then  came  a  terrible 
slaughter  that  no  voice  could  stop.  Caught  in  the  narrow 
streets,  crowded  in  the  houses  and  the  Temple,  the  Jews  fell 
in  thousands.  Massacre  and  plunder  reigned  through  the 
whole  city.  Neither  age,  nor  sex,  nor  station  was  spared  by 
the  Roman  soldiery ;  and  Herod  in  vain  attempts  to  bridle 
their  fury,  till  at  length,  turning  to  Sosius,  he  exclaims, 

"  Wilt  thou  leave  me  king  of  a  desert  ]  I  tell  thee,  to  be 
monarch  of  the  whole  habitable  earth  would  be  no  compensa- 
tion for  the  murder  of  so  many  innocent  citizens." 

Sosius  answered,  coldly,  that  the  city  was  taken  by  assault, 
and  that  the  plunder  was  but  a  fit  reward  for  his  soldiers. 

"  Well,  then,  let  me  redeem  the  city,"  exclaimed  Herod. 
"  Call  back  your  troops,  let  them  cease  the  destruction,  and 
firom  my  own  treasures,  which  affe  ample,  I  will  give  each 
man  his  reward." 

But  who  is  this  clad  in  royal  robes,  but  with  dust  upon  his 
head,  who  comes  and  falls  at  Sosius's  feet,  petitioning  for  life 
with  tears  ?  It  is  Antigonus  ;  but  the  proud  Roman  beholds 
him  with  a  look  of  scorn,  and  calls  him  by  a  woman's  name, 
Antigone.  He  hands  him  over  to  the  soldiery  to  be  bound, 
and  carried  as  a  captive  to  adorn  a  triumph. 

The  Roman  troops  are  at  length  recalled.  Herod  has  pur- 
chased forbearance  ;  and  he  is  left  undisputed  master  of  the 
city. 

But  now  the  tiger  seized  upon  him.  A  remorseless  spirit 
never  departed  from  him,  casting  its  black  shadow  over  all 
the  future  acts  of  life,  the  bright  as  well  as  the  dark,  till  his 
name  stands  as  a  curse  upon  the  page  of  history. 

Antigonus  was  carried  to  Antony,  the  last  king  of  the  Asa- 
monean  family,  but  Herod  remembered  that  he  might  yet  live 
to  shake  his  throne  ;  and  he  purchased  his  death  at  the  hands 
of  the  triumvir.  He  was  belieaded  as  a  public  criminal  in 
Antioch ;  but  this  was  not  sufficient.  The  party  of  Antig- 
onus, too,  was  to  be  destroyed.  Forty-five  of  the  principal 
men  of  Jerusalem  were  put  to  death,  and  many  others  at 
different  times  shared  their  fate. 

The  Romans  were  greedy  of  gold.  Antony  required  con- 
tinual supplies ;  and  the  immense  wealth  accumulated  in 
Jerusalem  wa6  seized  upon  by  Herod,  to  keep  himself  well 


HEROD    THE   GREAT.  391 

with  the  Romans.  Still  he  fqund  not  peace  or  security,  for 
Cleopatra  governed  Antony,  and  she  desired  the  kingdom  of 
Judaea  ibr  herself.  Her  daily  encroachments  were  a  source  of 
anger  and  alarm  to  Herod ;  but  others  rose  up  in  his  own 
household  which  shook  his  mighty  and  vehement  spirit  still 
more. 

Great  was  the  beauty  of  Mariamne,  and  great  was  the 
beauty  of  Aristobulus  her  brother  ;  and  Herod  loved  them  both 
right  well.  But  Aristobulus  was  of  the  blood  royal  of  Judaea, 
the  grandson  of  Hyrcanus,  the  son  of  Alexander,  the  nephew 
of  Antigonus ;  and  Alexandra,  his  mother,  was  an  ambitious 
and  an  artful  woman.  Much  had  she  befriended  Herod  ;  and 
much  had  Herod  done  for  her.  He  had  listened  to  her  coun- 
sels too  ;  and  now  his  devoted  passion  for  Mariamne  seemed 
to  promise  her  all  the  power  that  she  could  desire ;  but  a 
cause  of  dissension  soon  arose. 

Hyrcanus  was  persuaded  to  come  back  from  among  the 
Parthians,  and  was  treated  with  reverence  and  tenderness  by 
Herod  ;  but  the  king  could  not  restore  to  him  the  high-priest- 
hood, for  the  mutilation  he  had  sufiered  rendered  him  incapa- 
ble of  holding  the  office.  Aristobulus  was  very  young,  but 
sixteen  years  of  age,  and  therefore  ill-fitted  for  so  great  a  charge ; 
but  there  was  a  priest  among  the  trans-Euphratian  Jews,  of 
the  high-priestly  family,  named  Ananelus,  for  whom  Herod 
had  had  a  friendship  in  days  of  old.  To  him  the  king  now 
sent,  and,  on  his  arrival  in  Jerusalem,  raised  him  to  the  high- 
priesthood.  Alexandra  was  troubled  at  this.  She  coveted 
the  high-priesthood  for  her  son ;  perhaps  she  looked  upon  the 
altar  as  but  a  step  to  the  throne.  Mariamne's  power  over 
Herod  was  immense,  and  Alexandra's  power  over  her  daugh- 
ter unbounded  ;  but  Alexandra  was  an  intriguing  and  crooked- 
spirited  woman,  and  she  sought  not  the  open  course  of  re- 
monstrance and  entreaty.  She  dealt  secretly  with  Cleopatra, 
and  through  her  with  Antony.  She  even  risked  the  degrada- 
iiion  and  profanation  of  her  own  children.  She  sent  their 
portraits  to  the  lawless  and  luxurious  triumvir ;  but  Herod 
frustrated  her  schemes,  and  for  the  time  overlooked  her  crime. 
At  last  Mariamne's  influence  was  used  to  elevate  her  brother, 
and  Herod,  partly  in  comphance  with  her  entreaties,  partly 
with  the  political  view  of  binding  Aristobulus  forever  to 
Judaea,  deposed  Ananelus  and  raised  Aristobulus  to  the  high- 
priesthood. 

At  all  points  of  history  we  are  met  by  dark  and  unfathomable 
chasms ;  for  who  can  look  into  the  minds  of  men,  discover 


39S  DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

the  secret  motives  of  their  actions,  or  trace  in  the  hidden 
chambers  of  the  heart  the  first  germs  of  those  designs  which 
bear  fruit  long  after  ?  Aristobulus  was  high-priest,  although, 
by  the  custom  of  the  Jews,  no  one  was  elevated  to  that  sta- 
tion till  he  had  reached  twenty  years  of  age.  Nevertheless, 
he  officiated  in  the  robes  and  ornaments  of  his  station  ;  and 
the  movable  people  shouted  their  admiration  of  his  grace  and 
dignity.  Still  Herod,  perhaps,  might  have  spared  him ;  and 
no  one  can  truly  say  that  he  yet  thought  of  putting  the  youth 
to  death ;  but  he  had  marked  and  knew  all  the  proceedings 
of  Alexandra  ;  he  saw  her  ambitious  spirit ;  he  was  learned 
in  her  intricate  intrigues.  He  had  publicly  reproached  her 
with  her  dealings  with  Antony.  She  had  humbled  herself 
before  him,  and  he  had  received  her  into  apparent  favor ; 
but  she  was  surrounded  in  the  palace  by  guards  and  attend- 
ants of  his  -choosing,  and  all  her  acts  were  strictly  watched. 

The  restraint  was  troublesome  to  her ;  again  she  dealt  with 
Cleopatra,  and,  by  the  advice  of  the  cruel  Egyptian  harlot, 
she  laid  a  cunning  scheme  for  escaping  with  her  son  to  Mark 
Antony.  Two  coffins  were  prepared  and  brought  into  the 
palace,  as  if  to  carry  out  the  dead  bodies  of  some  inferior  per- 
sons, A  ship  was  ready  on  the  sea-coast,  and,  placing  her- 
self in  the  one  sarcophagus  and  her  sou  in  the  other,  she  or- 
dered those  in  whom  she  had  confidence  to  convey  them  out 
of  Jerusalem  in  the  night. 

The  scheme,  however,  reached  Herod's  ears  by  accident ; 
he  suflered  it  to  proceed  to  execution,  then  stopped  the  cof- 
fins ;  and  Alexandra  was  exposed  in  the  act.  He  seemed  to 
forgive  the  offense  ;  but  it  is  probable  that  the  attempt  sealed 
the  fate  of  Aristobulus  ;  for  Herod  knew  right  well  that  his 
escape  to  Egypt  would  liave  been  the  signal  of  his  own  down- 
fall. 

Months  passed ;  and  Herod,  Alexandra,  and  Aristobulus 
were  friends.  The  Feast  of  the  Tabernacle  was  over,  and 
Alexandra  and  her  son  entertained  the  king  and  his  court  a^ 
Jericho.  High  was  the  feasting  and  revelry,  and  gay  were 
the  sports  and  pastimes  ;  and  in  merry  mood,  as  it  seemed, 
Herod  and  his  servants  went  out  into  the  gardens  of  the  house 
to  amuse  themselves  as  the  day  declined.  Beautiful  were  the 
gardens  of  Jericho,  with  their  balm-bearing  palm-trees  ;  beau- 
tiful the  clear  pools,  filled  with  silvery  fish.  Intensely  hot, 
however,  was  the  weather  ;  and  as  they  gave  themselves  up 
to  wild  and  childlike  games,  the  ambitious  youth,  the  great 
warrior,  and  the  slaves  and  servants  of  the  king,  some  one 


HBRob   THE   GREAT.  393 

proposed  to  bathe  in  the  tanks  just  when  the  sun  went 
down. 

The  attendants  obtained  permission,  stripped  and  plunged 
in,  while  Herod  and  Aristobulus  lay  upon  the  bank  and  saw 
their  sports  in  the  clear  water.  At  length  Aristobulus  was 
seized  with  the  spirit  likewise,  and  he  also  plunged  into  the 
pool.  TwiHght  was  coming  on  ;  the  sport  ran  high  ;  one  of 
Herod's  servants  playfully  seized  the  prince  as  he  swam  and 
dipped  him  beneath  the  waters ;  another  came,  and  another. 
They  dipped  him  down,  they  held  him  down  ;  sometimes  he 
struggled  free,  but  was  soon  caught  again.  It  seemed  all  in 
sport ;  but  before  the  darkness  was  complete  the  beautiful 
Aristobulus  was  drawn  out  with  affected  care  and  laid  a 
corpse  upon  the  bank.  Herod  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  face 
of  the  dead  ;  and  as  he  looked  upon  that  fair  countenance  with 
the  eyes  forever  closed  in  death,  his  heart  smote  him  and  he 
wept  bitterly. 

A  costly  funeral,  a  magnificent  sepulcher,  spices  and  orna- 
ments were^avished  on  the  corpse  ;  but  the  people  of  Judsea 
remained  convinced  that  the  death  of  Aristobulus  was  the 
work  of  Herod ;  and  those  who  judged  most  favorably  said 
it  was  a  hard  necessity. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HEROD     THE     GREAT. 

Antony  the  triumvir  sat  in  Laodicea  by  the  side  of  Cleo- 
patra, and  the  tongue  of  the  siren  was  busy  against  Herod. 

"  He  will  not  come,"  she  said  ;  "  he  has  slain  the  princely 
boy  Aristobulus,  and  he  dare  not  present  himself  before  An- 
tony." 

Antony  smiled  upon  her,  but  he  believed  her  not,  and  still 
answered  that  Herod  would  come.  And  Herod  did  come  ; 
not  only  bringing  with  him  his  own  eloquence  for  his  defense, 
but  a  large  sum  of  money  as  a  gift  far  more  eloquent  than 
the  tongue  of  any  orator.  His  audience  was  most  favorable. 
No  one  could  prove  that  he  had  taken  part  in  the  murder  , 
no  one  could  prove  that  there  had  been  any  murder  at  all. 
The  voic^  of  Cleopatra  herself  was  of  no  effect  ag^ainst  him, 

R2 


394  DARK    SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

and  Antony  reveled  with  him  at  the  banquet  and  placed  him 
on  the  same  tribunal  with  himself. 

The  letters  of  Herod  were  full  of  joy  and  satisfaction,  and 
with  a  cheerful  countenance  he  set  out  again  for  Jerusalem, 
thinking  of  love,  and  rule,  and  success.  But  the  drop  of  pois- 
on had  been  prepared  for  the  cup  of  his  peace  during  his  ab- 
sence, and  it  was  the  hand  of  his  own  sister  that  was  to  ad- 
minister it. 

The  news  spread  through  the  palace  that  Herod  was  within 
a  day's  journey  ;  but  his  household  was  all  in  confusion.  Ma- 
riamne  smiled  gladly  ;  but  there  was  bitterness  in  her  smile, 
for  she  said,  "  Now  I  shall  be  no  longer  under  subjection  to 
my  husband's  sister  and  his  mother."  Bitter  words  passed 
between  her  and  Salome,  and  Mariamne  held  her  head  proud- 
ly, and  taunted  Herod's  sister  with  her  Idumaian  birth.  Sa- 
lome pondered  her  purposes  in  her  own  heart,  and  was  silent. 

Herod  returned,  and  he  soon  found  that  there* had  been 
dissension  among  the  women.  His  mother.  Cypres,  was 
grave  and  silent,  and  when  they  were  alone  she  told  him 
that  false  intelligence  had  come  during  his  absence  of  Anto- 
ny having  put  him  to  the  torture  and  doomed  him  to  death. 
Therefore,  she  said,  Alexandra  and  Mariamne  had  proposed 
to  his  uncle  Joseph,  whom  he  had  left  procurator  in  Judaea, 
to  fly  to  Julius,  the  commander  of  the  Roman  legion  which 
lay  about  Jerusalem. 

Here  her  tale  ended,  and  it  was  true.  Salome  gave  him 
the  same  history,  but  she  added  to  it.  She  told  him  that  the 
widow  of  Alexander  and  the  queen  had  calculated  that  if 
Marcus  Antonius  had  once  set  eyes  on  the  beauty  of  Mari- 
amne, he  would  become  her  slave,  as  he  had  become  the  slave 
of  Cleopatra  ;  and  she  ended  with  a  sigh,  and  the  words, 
"Alas,  my  brother  I" 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down  as  she  spoke,  and  she  fell  into 
thought. 

"  What  more  ?"  demanded  Herod,  sternly. 

"  Nay,  why  should  I  take  away  thy  peace  ?"  said  Salome. 

"  Speak  !"  cried  Herod  ;  "  thou  hast  more  to  tell." 
«  "  Art  thou  not  too  confident  of  Joseph  ?"  asked  his  sister  ; 
*'  he  was  often  with  thy  Mariamne — nay,  too  often.  He  was 
with  her  day  by  day  in  the  inner  chamber ;  and  none  had 
admission  in  those  secret  hours.  She  is  wonderfully  beauti- 
ful, and  Joseph  is  not  hard-hearted  to  fair  women." 

Oh  how  Herod  writhed  under  the  torture  of  his  heart ;  but 
he  turned  away  without  a  word,  and  sought  the  chamber 


HEROD-  T^E   GREAT.  39S 

of  his  wife ;  and  there  he  stood  and  gazed  on  her  with  eyes 
full  of  love  and  jealousy.  He  would  fain  have  killed  her ; 
but  love  was  too  strong  for  rage,  and  she  looked  calm  and 
beautiful. 

"  What  ails  my  husband  ?"  asked  Mariamne  ;  "he  seems 
greatly  moved." 

"  Art  thou  false  to  me,  Mariamne  ?"  asked  Herod,  with  a 
frown  ;  and  she  started  on  her  feet  with  a  look  of  terror  and  ' 
surprise. 

"  False  to  thee  !"  she  exclaimed,  with  the  blood  burning 
in  her  cheek.  "No,  so  help  me  the  God  of  my  fathers. 
Who  has  poisoned  thine  ear  against  me,  and  done  this  great 
wickedness  to  take  away  thy  favor  from  me  by  a  lie  ?" 

"  Why,  then,  was  Joseph  with  thee  so  often  in  the  inner 
chamber  ?"  asked  Herod  ;  "  and  why  were  all  other  people 
kept  out,  while  he  was  admitted  ?" 

"  Didst  thou  not  leave  him  procurator  in  thy  place  ?"  asked 
Mariamne ;  "  and  was  it  not  needful  that  he  should  speak 
with  me  when  the  people  were  turbulent,  and  false  tidings 
came  that  thou  wert  dead  ?  Thrice,  and  thrice  only,  did  he 
come  to  me  ;  first,  to  tell  me  thou  hadst  arrived  at  Laodicea ; 
next,  to  take  counsel  with  me  when  men  said  that  Antony 
had  put  thee  to  death  ;  and,  lastly,  to  comfort  me  by  showing 
that  the  news  was  false.  Moreover,  know,  oh  Herod,  that 
when  men  said  thou  wert  dead,  there  was  great  confusion  of 
counsel  in  the  place.  Some  advised  one  thing,  and  some  an- 
other ;  and  some  would  have  me  fly  to  the  Romans  for  aid 
against  the  mutinous  people  of  the  city.  Nay,  further  still, 
I  as  a  weak  woman  might  have  done  as  they  would  have  had 
me,  for  I  thought  of  saving  my  own  life  ;  but  I  sent  to  Jo- 
seph to  come  to  me  ;  and  he  showed  me  that  to  go  to  the 
Romans,  who  had  put  thee  to  death,  would  be  to  seek  thine 
enemies  ;  and  therefore  I  refrained.  What  has  Mariamne 
done,  that  any  thing  should  be  concealed  ?" 

The  face  of  Herod  brightened  ;  and  he  held  out  his  arms 
to  her,  saying,  "  Thou  hast  told  me  the  truth,  Mariamne,  for 
this  evil  counsel  I  knew  before  ;  yet  had  it  been  wise  of  thee 
to  have  had  thy  maidens  with  thee  while  taking  counsel  with 
Joseph." 

"  Then  would  they  have  told  our  words  to  every  one,"  re- 
plied Mariamne;  "  and  in  such  matters,  I  have  heard,  secrecy 
is  wise.  Nevertheless,  they  were  never  altogether  absent ; 
for,  though  he  spoke  with  me  in  the  inner  chamber,  yet  still 
were  they  in  the  outer  room  ;  nor  was  the  curtain  ever  drawn 


396  D  A  R  K  S  C  E  N  E  S  OF   HISTORY. 

between  them  and  me.  But  Herod  loves  not  Mariamne  if  he 
beheves  so  lightly  the  false  tongue  of  a  slanderer  against  her ;" 
and  she  wept. 

But  Herod  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  weeping  also,  told  her 
that  he  loved  her  but  too  well,  and  with  many  an  oath  and 
many  a  caress  assured  her  of  his  affection.  Embraces  and 
kind  words  followed  ;  but  yet  Mariamne's  eyes  were  tearful ; 
and  at  length  she  said,  "  I  beUeve  thou  lovest  me,  Herod. 
Yet  was  not  that  command  thou  gavest,  that  if  any  harm 
came  to  thee  from  Antony,  I,  who  had  been  no  occasion  of  it, 
should  perish  with  thee,  a  sign  of  thy  love  for  me." 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  Herod  cast  her  from  his 
arms,  and,  starting  up  Uke  a  madman,  tore  his  hair  and  beat 
his  breast,  exclaiming,  "It  is  too  clear,  it  is  too  clear  I" 
Twice  he  put  his  hand  to  his  sword  as  if  he  would  have  slain 
her  •  but  then  rushing  out,  he  sought  a  private  apartment  of 
the  palace,  and  casting  himself  down  upon  the  bed,  groaned 
heavily.  Still,  in  his  heart,  he  said  to  himself,  "  He  has  told 
her  the  deepest  secret  that  was  between  us.  It  must  have 
been  told  in  hours  of  passion,  when  the  heart  is  unlocked  by 
love." 

For  hours  all  seemed  darkness  to  him ;  but  then  came  a 
Httle  ray  of  light,  and  rising,  he  pondered  thoughtfully  and 
more  calmly.  "He  may  have  told  her,"  he  thought,  "  in  the 
pleadings  of  passion,  to  make  her  hate  me  and  love  him.  He 
is  criminal ;  yet  she  may  be  blameless.  He  shall  die  ;"  and 
calling  an  officer  to  him,  he  whispered  a  word  in  his  ear. 

The  man  departed,  and  ere  the  sun  went  down  Joseph 
was  no  longer  found  upon  the  earth.  Alexandra,  whose  in- 
trigues had  produced  such  evil  fruit,  was  placed  in  strict  con- 
finement ;  but  love  saved  Mariamne  for  the  time. 

Suspicion,  however,  had  fallen  upon  Herod's  mind,  wither- 
ing his  heart  and  his  happiness,  changing  his  nature,  and  ren- 
dering him,  who  was  ever  fierce  and  vehement,  but  generous, 
affectionate,  and  merciful,  cruel,  sanguinary,  and  relentless. 
The  very  strife  between  the  bitter  and  worse  parts  of  his 
character  increased  his  impatience  and  irascibility  ;  and 
doubts,  suspicions,  and  experience  of  the  baseness  of  mankind 
degraded  the  keeimess  of  his  intellect  to  cunning  and  artifice, 
though  still  from  time  to  time  a  more  generous  spirit  would 
break  forth,  and  Herod  would  reappear  for  a  moment  in  his 
native  greatnesB. 


HEROD  THE  GREAT.  3^ 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HEROD    THE    GREAT. 

With  pomp  and  pageantry,  and  every  luxurious  appliance 
of  the  East,  came  the  beautiful,  the  depraved,  the  sanguinary 
Cleopatra  into  Judasa  on  her  way  back  to  Egypt.  Although 
she  had  deprived  Herod  of  a  great  and  important  part  of  the 
land  which  had  been  bestowed  upon  him,  and  had  obtained 
from  Mark  Antony  the  whole  coast  of  Syria,  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Eleutherus  down  to  Rhinocolura,  with  the  exception  of 
the  towns  of  Tyre  and  Sidon,  Herod  met  her  with  honor  and 
distinction  on  her  onward  journey  from  Damascus.  Nor  did 
she  treat  him  with  less  marks  of  favor.  It  is  said  that  she 
attempted  to  entangle  him  in  the  same  chains  as  Antony.  It 
is  said  that  he  consulted  whether  he  should  put  her  to  death 
as  the  best  service  he  could  render  to  the  triumvir  ;  but  it  is 
certain  he  escaped  her  wiles  and  suffered  her  to  proceed  un- 
injured. 

In  the  mean  time  she  had  raised  up  difficulties  and  dan- 
gers against  him.  Coveting  both  Judsea  and  Arabia,  she 
sought  cause  of  quarrel  with  the  Arabian  king,  and  induced 
Antony  to  charge  Herod  with  the  execution  of  her  vengeance, 
for  she  calculated  upon  destroying  the  one  king  by  the  other, 
and  gaining  whichever  was  the  victor.  But  the  sun  of  An- 
tony was  now  in  the  decline ;  and  Ceesar  Octavius  was  pre- 
paring diligently  for  the  struggle  which  was  to  confer  on  him 
the  dominion  of  the  world.  Herod  saw  the  threatening  storm, 
and,  faithful  to  his  friendship  for  Antony,  made  ready  with 
energy  and  skill  to  aid  a  benefactor  who  was  casting  away,  by 
his  own  vices,  the  imperial  crown  which  fortune  seemed  to 
place  within  his  grasp.  Cleopatra  dissolved  an  inestimable 
pearl  in  wine  and  drank  it,  and  the  rich  jewel  of  imperial 
power  was  dissolved  by  Antony  in  the  wine-cup  of  his  pleas- 
ures. 

Already  the  battle  of  Actium  was  imminent,  and  the  suc- 
cor of  every  brave  man  and  skillful  general  seemed  needful 
to  Antony.  Herod,  moved  by  zeal,  and  fresh  from  some  years 
of  tranquillity,  marched  forward  to  the  assistance  of  his  friend 
with  a  large  army  ;  but  the  influence  of  Antony's  evil  spirit 


398  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

prevailed  ;  and,  by  the  advice  of  Cleopatra,  messengers  were 
sent  to  Herod,  telling  him  that  his  aid  was  not  wanted  at 
Actium,  and  requiring  him  to  lead  his  troops  against  the  Ara- 
bians. 

Though  mortified,  he  obeyed,  and,  marching  upon  Diospo- 
lis,*  defeated  the  enemy  in  a  general  battle ;  but  the  Arab 
hordes  soon  renewed  their  forces  and  gathered  together  an  im- 
mense multitude  on  Kanah  or  Kanatha,  beyond  Libanus,  to- 
ward Sidon.  Herod  pursued  them  thither ;  but  finding  his 
troops  not  sufficient  to  attack  them  in  their  position,  he  order- 
ed his  officers  to  form  an  intrenched  camp  while  he  proceed- 
ed to  bring  up  re-enforcements  to  his  army. 

The  Jews,  however,  elated  with  their  late  victory,  and 
knowing  that  Athenion,  one  of  Cleopatra's  generals,  was  in 
Kanah  with  a  considerable  force,  ready,  as  they  believed,  to 
give  them  support,  attacked  the  Arabs  vigorously,  and  at  the 
first  onset  put  them  to  flight. t  The  treacherous  Athenion, 
however,  whether  by  a  preconcerted  arrangement  with  the 
Arabs  or  from  mere  enmity  to  Herod  is  uncertain,  fell  upon 
the  rear  of  the  victorious  Jews  and  threw  them  into  confu- 
sion. The  Arabs  rallied,  and  a  terrible  slaughter  of  Herod's 
troops  took  place.  The  camp  was  taken,  with  all  that  it  con- 
tained, and  the  hopes  of  the  Jews  were  terribly  depressed. 

Further  misfortunes  happened,  and,  seeing  no  prospect  of 
carrying  on  the  war  successfully  against  the  enemy,  Herod 
sent  embassadors  to  treat  for  peace ;  but  nearly  at  the  same 
time  the  fatal  defeat  at  Actium  cast  down  the  whole  fabric 
of  Antony's  greatness  ;  and  a  terrible  earthquake,  such  as  had 
never  been  known  before  in  Judaea,  ruined  the  cities  and  dev- 
astated the  land.  Rumor  magnified  these  disasters  in  convey- 
ing this  intelligence  to  the  Arabians.  Herod's  embassadors 
were  slain,  and  his  enemies  prepared  to  cross  the  Jordan  and 
ravage  the  whole  land  of  Palestine.     But  Herod  now  roused 

*  It  is  difficalt  to  discover  which  of  the  many  cities  called  by  this 
name  is  meant  by  the  historians.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  believe  that 
the  battle  t(X)k  place  either  at  Diospolis  in  Bithynia,  or  in  either  of  the 
two  places  of  the  same  name  in  Egypt.  A  greater  probability  exists 
of  its  having  been  fought  in  Samaria ;  but  if  that  were  the  case,  the 
Arabs  must  have  themselves  begun  the  war,  and  crossed  an  immense 
tract  of  country  under  the  rule  of  Herod,  of  which  we  have  no  record, 

t  The  account  given  by  Josephus,  in  his  History  of  the  Wars,  appears 
to  be  different  from  that  given  in  his  Antiquities,  as  far  as  I  understand 
the  text.  In  the  one  it  would  seem  that  Herod  was  not  present  at  the 
battle,  but  came  up  afterward  when  all  was  lost.  In  the  other  it  is 
specially  stated  that  Herod  was  present,  though  not  engaged  till  it  was 
too  late  to  render  his  officers  any  assistance. 


HEROD   THE   GREAT.  399 

the  courage  of  the  Jews  again,  recruited  his  army,  and  once 
more  led  them  to  battle. 

After  an  animating  speech  to  the  assembled  host,  he  march- 
ed at  once  into  the  enemy's  country  to  attack  them  before 
they  were  fully  prepared,  forced  them  to  an  engagement  on 
the  outside  of  their  camp,  and  defeated  them  with  the  slaughter 
of  five  thousand  men.  A  large  body  fled  for  safety  to  their 
intrenched  camp,  in  which  they  were  besieged  by  Herod.  All 
supplies  were  cut  off';  water  was  not  to  be  had ;  and,  after 
enduring  the  horrors  of  thirst  for  some  time,  the  Arab  com- 
mander sent  an  envoy  to  the  king  to  make  terms  for  their 
surrender.  Herod  sternly  refused  to  grant  any  conditions  to 
men  who  had  slaughtered  his  embassadors.  Four  thousand 
men  surrendered  at  discretion.  The  rest  issued  forth,  driven 
to  seek  death  in  the  field  by  their  intolerable  thirst.  Seven 
thousand  were  thus  slain ;  and  the  rest  of  the  people,  yield- 
ing to  Herod,  proclaimed  him  their  monarch  and  their  leader. 

Notwithstanding  this  success,  great  perils  surrounded  the 
Idumsean  king.  The  fortunes  of  Antony  were  utterly  lost ; 
factions  were  rising  up  in  Judaea ;  the  enmity  of  Csesar  and 
the  fall  of  Herod  were  foreseen  both  by  his  friends  and  his 
enemies  ;  and  Hyrcanus,  at  the  instigation  of  Alexandra,  was 
negotiating  with  the  Arabians.  Herod,  however,  had  now 
learned  not  to  spare :  he  convicted  Hyrcanus  of  his  negotiations 
with  the  enemy,  and  remorselessly  ordered  the  man  who  had 
so  frequently  befriended  him  to  be  put  to  death.  His  fourscore 
years,  his  hoary  hair,  his  royal  blood,  his  mild,  inactive  nature, 
his  many  benefits,  his  ancient  friendship,  his  near  alliance, 
afforded  no  plea  for  mercy  in  the  eyes  of  Herod  ;  and  he  died 
under  the  orders  of  his  grandchild's  husband. 

Herod  still  loved  Mariamne  ;  but  Mariamne  learned  to  hate 
Herod.  He  had  slaughtered  all  her  kindred  but  her  mother ; 
and  she  seemed  to  see  that  her  own  fate  was  impending,  and 
to  court  rather  than  avoid  it.  Her  contempt  and  abhorrence 
of  the  viper  Salome  was  undisguised.  Nor  did  she  conceal 
her  scorn  and  disgust  for  Cypros  the  Idumaean,  widow  of  An- 
tipater.  Her  proud  and  lofty  spirit  inflicted  a  thousand  mor- 
tifications upon  them  ;  and  often  to  her  husband  himself  she 
suffered  to  appear  feelings  that  it  would  have  been  wise  to 
hide.  But  of  a  bold,  frank,  and  fearless  nature,  she  could  not 
vail  her  thoughts,  even  at  the  fear  of  death. 

The  fall  of  Antony's  fortunes,  however,  called  Herod  away 
from  the  scene  of  domestic  discord  ;  and,  resolved  to  separate 
those  whose  dissensions  had  caused  him  so  much  pain,  he  sent 


400  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 

his  mother  and  sister  to  Massada,  placed  Mariamne  and  Alex- 
andra in  the  strong  fortress  of  Alexandrium,  under  the  charge 
of  his  friend  Sohemus,  left  the  government  of  the  kingdom 
to  his  brother  Pheroras,  and  set  out  to  meet  Caesar  and  turn 
away  his  wrath.  His  fate  was  entirely  in  the  hands  of  Octa- 
vius,  for  Antony's  star  was  sunk  never  to  rise  again ;  and 
Caesar  was  rarely  moved  by  any  consideration  of  pity.  Her- 
od's boldness,  however,  saved  him  ;  and  this  was  one  of  those 
occasions  on  which  the  light  once  more  broke  out. 

Proceeding  with  a  large  train  to  the  north,  he  embarked 
for  Rhodes,  to  which  city  Csesar  had  now  come  ;  and  laying 
aside  his  diadem,  he  presented  himself  before  him  whom  we 
may  now  call  the  monarch  of  Rome.  Although  he  had  put 
off  the  emblems  of  royalty,  yet  his  demeanor  was  most  kingly. 
No  hesitation,  no  confusion  was  in  his  manner  or  speech.  He 
made  no  vain  excuses  ;  he  sought  by  no  falsehood'  or  prevari- 
cation to  avert  the  wrath  of  the  victor ;  and  his  words,  as 
they  are  set  down  for  us,  so  I  repeat  them  : 

"  As  I  was  made  king  by  Antony,  O  Caesar,"  he  said,  "  so 
have  I  used  my  royal  authority  in  the  best  manner  for  his 
advantage.  I  did  all  that  I  could,  that  he  might  attain  the 
supreme  government ;  and  although  I  was  not  in  the  army 
with  him  when  he  fought  against  thee,  yet  I  most  certainly 
should  have  been  so,  and  his  companion  to  the  last,  had  not 
the  Arabian  war  detained  me.  Nevertheless,  I  sent  him 
money,  com,  and  as  many  auxiliaries  as  I  could  spare.  Nor 
did  I  desert  him  after  the  reverse  he  met  with  at  Actium,  but 
gave  him  my  best  advice  when  I  could  no  longer  assist  him 
in  the  war.  I  told  him  that  there  was  but  one  way  of  recov- 
ering his  fortunes,  which  was  to  kill  Cleopatra  ;  and  I  prom- 
ised him,  if  she  were  dead,  to  furnish  him  with  money,  to  re- 
ceive him  into  my  walled  cities,  and  to  support  him  with  nay 
forces  and  my  hand  in  his  war  against  thee.  But  his  own 
rash  peission  for  Cleopatra  stopped  his  ears,  and  the  will  of 
God  hath  bestowed  the  government  on  thee.  I  acknowledge 
myself  conquered  together  with  him  ;  and  with  the  end  of  his 
fortunes  I  have  laid  aside  my  diadem,  and  have  come  hither 
to  thee,  trusting  for  my  safety  to  thy  virtue.  I  will  not  deny 
any  thing  that  I  have  done  for  Antony ;  nor  am  I  ashamed 
to  own  pubhcly  that  I  had  a  true  friendship  for  him.  If, 
therefore,  thou  regardest  my  case  in  reference  to  thy  wrath  at 
Antony,  and  my  zeal  to  serve  him,  I  have  no  power  to  help 
myself;  but  if  thou  wilt  not  consider  him,  but  only  how  I  have 
acted  toward  my  benefactor,  thou  rnayest  judge  of  what  will 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  401 

be  my  conduct  toward  thee.  All  I  can  desire  is  that  thou 
wilt  consider  how  faithful  a  friend,  and  not  whose  friend,  I 
have  been." 

His  words  moved  Csesar  greatly  ;  and  the  memory  of  Her- 
od's great  actions,  nay,  even  the  firmness  of  his  friendship  for 
Antony,  served  him  even  more  than  his  eloquence.  With  his 
own  hands  Augustus  replaced  the  crown  upon  his  head,  say- 
ing, "  Thou  shalt  not  only  be  in  safety,  but  also  enjoy  thy  king- 
dom, and  that  more  firmly  than  ever,  for  thou  art  worthy  to 
reign  over  many  subjects,  on  account  of  the  steadfastness  of 
thy  friendship.  Be  thou  equally  constant  toward  me  as  thou 
hast  been  to  Antony.  I  feel  sure  that  thou  wilt  be  so,  from 
the  generosity  of  thy  nature  ;  and  Antony  hath  done  well  in 
preferring  Cleopatra  to  thee,  for  thus  have  I  gained  thee  by 
her  madness.  Moreover,  I  will  confirm  thy  kingdom  to  thee 
by  a  decree,  and  even  add  to  it  hereafter,  that  thou  mayest 
not  suffer  by  the  loss  of  Antony." 

Honors  and  success  thus  attended  the  King  of  Judssa ;  but 
domestic  peace  was  lost. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HEROD     THE     GREAT. 

In  pageantry,  and  pomp,  and  military  display,  and  in  the 
activity  and  excitement  of  more  serious  things,  Herod  might 
find  some  relief  from  oppressive  thought.  He  hastened  from 
Rhodes  to  Ptolemais,  and  there  entertained  Csesar  with  royal 
hospitality.  In  one  day  he  feasted  an  emperor  and  a  whole 
Roman  army ;  but  he  rendered  services  as  well  as  honors  to 
CsBsar.  On  the  burning  march  to  Pelusium,  his  armies  want- 
ed neither  necessaries  nor  luxuries,  by  the  care  of  Herod  ;  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  desert,  water,  the  most  precious  of  all 
things,  was  as  plenty  as  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber.  Nor  were 
the  expressions  of  Caesar's  gratitude  confined  to  words.  All 
that  Cleopatra  had  taken  from  the  kingdom  of  Judaea  was 
restored ;  and  hardly  a  year  passed  from  that  time  forward 
without  some  large  addition  to  the  dominions  of  Herod,  the 
friend  of  Rome.  From  Hermon  to  the  sea,  and  Libanus  to 
the  desert,  all  was  his ;  and  a  deputed  power  was  bestowed 


402       DARK  SCENES  OF  HISTORY. 

upon  him  throughout  the  Syrian  province.  But  while  he  was 
arrayed  in  royal  robes,  misery  was  at  his  heart ;  while  he  gov- 
erned a  great  country,  discord,  and  sorrow,  and  death  were  in 
his  dwelling. 

Let  us  return  to  Alexandrium.  Mariamne  and  Alexandra 
were  kept  close  within  its  walls.  They  were  told  that  their 
own  safety  required  it ;  that  during  Herod's  absence  each  day 
might  bring  forth  events  as  perilous  to  themselves  as  to  him. 
They  would  not  believe  it;  they  felt  themselves  prisoners; 
and  the  spirit  of  the  Jewish  princess  revolted  against  the  jeal- 
ousy of  her  husband. 

"  He  loves  me  not.  He  doubts  me  without  cause,"  she 
said.     "  What  have  I  done,  to  be  so  treated  by  this  man  ?" 

She  resolved  to  use  all  a  woman's  arts  upon  Soheraus,  to 
discover  what  were  the  injunctions  which  Herod  had  laid  upon 
him  ;  and  those  arts  were  successful.  Sohemus,  after  much 
resistance,  told  her  all;  and  again  she  found  that  if. Herod 
were  slain  she  was  to  be  put  to  death.  Oh,  fatal  curiosity ! 
It  proved  her  destruction.  "  Barbarous,  hateful,  selfish  man," 
she  thought.  "  Am  I  ever  to  live  in  this  state  of  peril  from 
one  who  pretends  to  love  me  I  Better  to  die  at  once  than  thus 
to  dwell  with  the  sword  ever  hanging  over  my  head.  Oh, 
may  Caesar  slay  him,  and  end  the  life  of  one  who  has  mur- 
dered all  ray  race,  and  now  seeks  to  destroy  me  also.  Does 
he  expect  that  I  can  do  aught  but  hate  him  ?  If  he  do,  he 
shall  be  made  to  feel  what  his  conduct  of  me  has  produced,  and 
learn  that  love  can  only  be  retained  by  love  and  tenderness." 

The  news  came  that  Herod  was  returning  in  greater  power 
than  ever  ;  but  it  brought  no  joy  to  Mariamne,  for  she  hated 
him  from  the  very  depth  of  her  heart.  To  her  he  flew,  the 
moment  of  his  arrival,  with  all  the  eagerness  of  love  ;  for,  not- 
withstanding his  deeds,  and  his  doubts,  and  his  jealousy,  he 
loved  her  with  all  the  intense  vehemence  of  his  nature.  She 
received  him  with  a  cold  and  disappointed  look.  When  he 
told  her  of  his  success  and  the  honors  he  had  received,  she 
turned  from  him  with  a  groan.  She  took  no  part  in  his  joy  ; 
she  rejoiced  not  at  his  safety.  She  concealed  none  of  her  feel- 
ings ;  die  seemed  resolved  to  provoke  him  to  give  her  the  de- 
liverance of  death.  But  she  was  so  beautiful,  and  he  loved 
her  so  devotedly,  he  could  not  destroy  that  fair  temple  of  a 
proud,  indignant  spirit ;  ho  could  not  bring  upon  himself  the 
agony  of  her  loss.  He  was  troubled  and  uncertain,  hesitating 
and  fitful.  Now  he  resolved  to  slay  her ;  now  the  thought 
filled  him  with  horror. 


HEROD    THK    GREAT.  403 

But  there  were  friends  by  his  side  who  irritated  the  worse 
and  crushed  the  better  passion.  Salome  and  Cypres  hated 
Mariamne,  and  they  filled  the  ear  of  Herod  with  tales  against 
her.  Nor  was  the  indignity  with  which  she  treated  them 
pleasing  to  the  brother  and  the  son.  Still  he  could  not  take 
his  resolution,  and  months  passed  on  without  aught  being  de- 
cided ;  but  during  a  second  visit  to  Ceesar,  on  his  return  from 
Egypt,  the  plot  was  laid  which  was  successful.  When  he 
returned,  Mariamne  was  more  cold  than  ever.  She  rejected 
his  caresses  ;  she  resolved  to  live  separate  from  him  ;  she  told 
him  that  he  had  caused  her  kindred  and  her  brother  to  be 
slain.  The  rage  of  Herod  knew  no  bounds  ;  and  as  soon  as 
she  had  left  him,  his  cup-bearer  entered,  and  told  him  that 
Mariamne  had  given  him  presents  to  administer  to  Herod  a 
love  potion  which  she  had  compounded.  What  the  effect 
might  be  he  did  not  know,  the  cup-bearer  said  ;  and  therefore 
he  had  resolved  to  reveal  the  matter  to  the  king,  lest  harm 
should  come  of  it. 

The  tale  was  a  falsehood,  suggested  by  Salome  ;  but  Her- 
od, in  the  act  of  which  his  wife  was  accused,  saw  a  design  of 
poisoning  him  ;  and  sending  instantly  for  the  chief  eunuch  of 
Mariamne's  household,  without  whose  knowledge  he  believed 
no  such  transaction  could  take  place,  he  ordered  the  man  to 
be  put  to  the  torture  in  his  presence.  Agony  the  most  terri- 
ble could  wring  from  the  poor  wretch  nothing  concerning  the 
love  potion.  Again  and  again  he  declared  that  he  had  heard 
nothing  of  it ;  but  he  acknowledged  that  Mariamne  hated 
Herod,  and  that  her  hatred  was  caused  by  something  which 
Sohemus  had  told  her. 

Once  more  Herod  found  his  secret  had  been  betrayed  by 
him  he  most  trusted ;  once  more  rage  and  jealousy  took  pos- 
session of  his  mind,  and  Sohemus  was  instantly  put  to  death. 
Had  there  been  no  Salome,  Mariamne  might  still  have  been 
spared ;  but,  imder  her  instigations,  Herod  called  together  a 
council  for  the  trial  of  his  wife,  and  vehemently  and  wildly 
he  accused  her  of  adultery  and  attempt  to  murder.  It  Avas 
to  his  own  creatures  he  appealed,  and  they  condemned  her. 
Ere  the  sentence  was  pronounced,  love  spoke  once  more  in  his 
heart,  and  one  of  her  repentant  judges  advised  that  she  should 
not  be  hastily  put  to  death.  "  Let  her  rather  be  strictly  con- 
fined in  a  fortress,"  he  said,  "till  the  king's  passion  is  sub- 
dued." 

But  Salome  was  at  hand  ;  and  she  whispered  in  the  king's 
ear  that  if  Mariamne  were  suffered  to  live  under  condemna- 


tH  DARK  SCENES   OF    HISTORY. 

tion,  the  people  would  rise  for  the  deliverance  of  a  daughter 
of  their  ancient  monarchs. 

The  fatal  words  were  spoken,  and  Mariamne  turned  to  be 
led  to  execution.  Alexandra  stood  trembling  by,  fearing  thai 
her  own  fate  was  near ;  and,  to  save  her  own  wretched  hfe 
she  added  another  drop  of  bitterness  to  the  cup  of  her  daugh 
ter's  fate.  She  rose  and  reproached  her  for  the  very  conduc 
which  she  herself  had  instigated.  She  tore  her  hair,  and  de 
dared  that  Marianne's  punishment  was  just,  and  called  Her 
od  their  common  benefactor. 

All  present  saw  her  hypocrisy  and  despised  her  ;  and  Ma 
riamne,  turning  without  a  word,  gave  her  a  look  of  pity  and 
contempt.  The  beautiful  queen  pleaded  not  for  life,  nor  show- 
ed for  one  instant  a  fear  of  death.  With  royal  dignity  and 
tranquil  grace  she  moved  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  with 
a  tearless  eye  and  a  cheek  in  which  the  color  never  faded,  re- 
ceived the  blow  which  ended  her  sorrows  and  her  wrongs. 

Mariamne  died  ;  but  it  was  Herod  who  was  punished.  No 
sooner  was  the  act  committed,  than  love,  and  remorse,  and 
despair  seized  upon  his  heart.  He  wept,  and  lamented,  and 
rent  his  garments,  and  called  aloud  for  Mariamne.  But  her 
voice  was  still ;  her  radiant  form  was  in  the  dust.  His  mind 
wandered  ;  he  could  not  believe  that  she  was  dead ;  he  would 
rise  and  seek  her ;  he  would  bid  his  servants  bring  her  to  his 
presence  ;  he  would  not  believe  them  when  they  told  him  he 
had  slain  her.  Then  he  sought  in  wild  revelry,  in  shows  and 
sports,  to  drown  the  terrible  memory  ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain. 

A  pestilence  arose  in  the  land,  sweeping  down  multitudes 
in  the  city  and  in  the  palace.  His  best  friends  and  nearest 
associates  were  taken  away  ;  and  men  whispered  that  it  was 
the  judgment  of  God  upon  his  head  for  the  death  of  Mariam- 
ne. Perhaps  he  judged  it  so  himself;  for  he  fled  into  distant 
places  to  make  war  upon  wild  beasts,  and  to  mourn  and  af- 
flict himself  for  what  he  had  done.  Madness  followed ;  a 
burning  pain  seized  upon  his  brain,  and  often  he  raved  wildly 
and  strangely,  and  over  his  ravings  were  about  Mariamne. 
In  vain  the  physicians  strove  to  give  him  relief  They  could 
not  ease  the  distemper  of  the  heart ;  they  could  not  blot  out 
Mariamne  from  his  memory ;  they  could  not  call  her  back 
from  the  bloody  grave  in  which  he  had  laid  her. 

Many  there  were  who  mourned  for  Herod  while  he  re- 
mained sick  in  body  and  in  mind  at  Samaria ;  but  the  base 
and  pitiful  Alexandra,  who  was  in  Jerusalem,  rejoiced,  and 
thought  to  corrupt  the  officers  of  the  king,  and  to  get  the  cita- 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  406 

dels  of  Jerusalem  and  the  Temple  under  her  power.  His  of- 
ficer€,  however,  were  faithful,  and  sent  to  inform  Herod  of 
Alexandra's  attempt.  The  reply  was  speedy  and  decisive,  to 
put  her  to  death ;  and  the  worker  of  so  much  mischief  wtie 
slain. 

Slowly  and  with  difficulty  Herod  regained  health  and  in- 
tellect, but  he  was  never  the  same  man  that  he  was  before. 
Ever  vehement  and  passionate,  his  rage  now,  when  once  ex- 
cited, knew  no  bounds,  and  blood  marked  his  footsteps  whith- 
ersoever he  went.  It  was  dangerous  even  to  be  a  friend  of 
Herod ;  for  his  dearest  associates  were  often  the  first  to  fall. 

Those  who  read  his  history  aright  see  in  all  his  actions, 
from  the  day  of  Mariamne's  death,  the  taint  of  insanity,  the 
struggling  of  a  strong  spirit  to  throw  off  the  burden  of  a  pain- 
ful memory,  the  remorseless  cruelty  of  a  heart  that  has  no 
peace  within  itself  The  slaughter  of  every  one  doubted  or 
suspected,  the  building  of  palaces,  temples,  and  cities,  the 
celebration  of  games  and  festivals,  the  display  of  pageants,  the 
abandonment  of  all  ancient  habits  and  customs,  were  but  the 
symbols  of  the  one  great  reality  ever  present  to  his  mind, 
despair. 

When  his  malady  was  abated,  Herod's  first  desire  was  to 
occupy  his  thoughts  ;  and,  as  war  no  longer  called  for  the  ex- 
ertion of  his  powers,  he  attempted  to  enjoy  himself  But 
Herod  had  forgotten  the  customs  of  his  fathers,  and  totally 
forgot  the  laws  and  prejudices  of  the  Jews.  He  built  a  great 
theater  iii  Jerusalem ;  he  created  an  amphitheater  in  the  plain ; 
he  covered  the  walls  with  inscriptions  to  CsBsar ;  he  erected 
trophies  of  pure  gold  and  silver  to  the  honor  of  the  emperor. 
He  appointed  solemn  games  to  be  celebrated  every  fifth  year. 
Wrestlers,  and  gladiators,  and  musicians,  were  called  from  all 
the  countries  around,  and  magnificent  prizes  were  offered  for 
those  who  contended  successfully  in  the  arena  and  for  the 
competitors  in  the  chariot-race.  Wild  beasts  were  procured 
from  every  country  to  fight  with  each  other,  or  with  criminals  ; 
and  the  whole  world  was  invited  to  the  games,  and  treated 
sumptuously  by  the  king. 

But  the  feelings  of  the  Jews  were  outraged  by  such  heathen- 
ish practices,  and  brave  and  zealous  men  conspired  to  put  Her- 
od to  death.  This  plot  was  discovered  ;  they  were  caught  in 
the  theater,  and,  boldly  avowing  their  intention,  died  under 
tortures  with  the  constancy  of  martyrs.  Tumults  and  execu- 
tions followed,  and  the  indignation  of  the  king  and  the  rage 
of  the  people  were  equal.     Herod,  however,  took  means  to 


406  DARK  SOBNES   OF   HISTORY. 

guard  himself  against  the  wrath  he  had  aroused,  and  to  bridle 
the  angry  nation  whom  he  governed.  He  fortified  the  town 
of  Samaria,  a  day's  journey  from  Jerusalem,  and  changed  its 
name  to  Sebaste  ;  he  adorned  it  with  a  temple  and  rich  build- 
ings ;  he  endowed  it  with  many  privileges,  and  filled  it  with 
a  people  devoted  to  himself,  among  whom  he  allotted  the 
rich  lands  in  the  neighborhood.  Strabo's  Tower  he  enlarged 
to  a  fortified  city,  and  called  it  Csesarea  ;  and  he  built  detach- 
ed fortresses  in  the  plains,  and  filled  them  with  horsemen, 
watching  continually  to  suppress  the  first  signs  of  insurrection. 
His  passion  for  building,  indeed,  grew  upon  him  as  he  advanced 
in  life,  and  the  magnificence  of  all  his  ideas  required  incessant 
supplies  of  money,  which  were  with  difficulty  wrung  from  the 
Jewish  people  ;  so  that  murmurs  and  complaints  were  loud, 
especially  in  the  more  remote  parts  of  his  extensive  kingdom. 

An  opportunity,  however,  occurred,  in  the  thirteenth  year 
of  his  reign,*  of  regaining  the  afiection  of  his  subjects,  and  of 
showing  that  the  original  generosity  of  his  nature  had  not 
been  wholly  extinguished.  A  sore  famine  afflicted  not  only 
Judaea,  but  aU  the  neighboring  provinces  of  Asia.  Perpetual 
droughts  had  rendered  the  ground  luifruitful.  A  new  pestilence 
swept  the  land,  for  which  no  resource  was  found  in  the  power 
of  medicine.  Fields  remained  untilled,  vineyards  uncultiva- 
ted, and  those  upon  which  the  labors  of  man  were  expended 
gave  but  little  or  no  return. 

The  king  was  sincerely  afflicted  with  the  miseries  of  his 
people ;  but  his  active  and  energetic  nature  did  not  remain 
satisfied  with  passive  sorrow.  The  vast  treasures  which  he 
had  extracted  from  the  Jewish  nation  had  been  expended  in 
magnificent  works  and  costly  decorations  ;  but  Herod  thought 
no  sacrifice  too  great  to  feed  the  people.  Every  thing  valu- 
able that  he  had  was  given  up  for  this  purpose.  All  his  rich 
plate  of  gold  and  silver  was  melted  ;  jewels  were  sold  ;  and  a 
sufficient  sum  was  raised  to  import  vast  quantities  of  com. 
Where  to  find  supplies,  however,  was  the  question  ;  but  Egypt 
and  Sicily  were  the  granaries  of  the  world,  and  Petronius, 
prefect  of  .the  former  country,  permitted  its  inhabitants  to  ex- 
port their  com  to  Judeea.  Herod  bought  up  all  that  could 
be  procured.  With  prudence,  skill,  and  the  kindest  charity, 
he  distributed  among  the  people  the  supplies  he  obtained  ; 
and,  extending  his  benevolence  to  the  neighboring  provinces 
also,  he  gave  seed  to  the  Syrians  for  the  cultivation  of  their 

*  That  is  to  say,  from  the  death  of  Antigonus,  not  from  the  donatioa 
of  the  kingdom  by  the  Roman  Senate. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  407 

fields ;  and,  on  the  approach  of  harvest,  aided  the  people  by 
hired  laborers  to  secure  the  crop. 

Thus  was  prosperity  restored  to  the  country ;  and,  as  the 
king's  proceedings  during  the  famine  were  open  to  the  eyes 
of  all,  a  complete  change  was  effected  in  the  feelings  of  the 
multitude  toward  him.  They  saw  him  implacable  in  his  re- 
sentments, merciless  towards  all  who  resisted  or  offended  him, 
but  kind,  generous,  and  considerate  to  all  who  were  submis- 
sive and  obedient ;  and  their  fear  and  their  admiration  went 
together  to  repress  the  turbulent  spirit  of  the  Jews.  Their 
old  customs,  indeed,  and  their  religious  feelings,  he  offended 
against  in  many  respects.  His  games  and  feasts  were  an 
abomination  to  them ;  but  in  Judsea  itself  he  refrained  in  a 
great  degree  from  the  encouragement  of  idolatry,  although  in 
the  pagan  parts  of  his  dominions  he  built  temples  to  strange 
gods,  greatly  to  the  scandal  of  the  Hebrews.  He  excused 
himself,  indeed,  to  the  Jews,  on  the  plea  of  subordination  to 
the  Roman  emperor ;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  faith  of  the 
Idumsean  king  was  by  no  means  so  pure  as  that  of  the  Jews. 
Ambition  was  his  god,  and  policy  his  religion.  He  had  ac- 
quired, and  he  ruled  a  kingdom  by  the  assistance  of  the  Ro- 
mans, and  to  cultivate  their  friendship  was  his  first  object. 
His  two  sons  by  Mariamne,  Alexander  and  Aristobulus,  were 
sent  to  Rome  to  be  educated  under  the  eye  of  Caesar ;  and, 
although  there  were  many  intrigues  against  Herod  at  the 
court  of  the  emperor,  and  many  complaints  of  his  oppression 
and  severity  were  made  to  Augustus  himself  when  he  visited 
Syria  in  the  seventeenth  year  of  Herod's  reign,  yet  the  imperial 
favor  was  continued  to  him  undiminished ;  and,  instead  of 
listening  to  his  enemies,  Augustus  bestowed  on  him  still  more 
extended  territories,  and,  at  his  request,  gave  a  tetrarchy,  or 
the  fourth  part  of  a  kingdom,  to  his  brother  Pheroras. 

We  know  not  whether  it  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Caesar, 
or  merely  from  the  impulse  of  his  own  mind,  that  about  the 
same  time  Herod  remitted  to  his  people  a  third  part  of  the 
taxes  he  had  imposed.  This  also  tended  to  conciliate  regard ; 
and,  in  order  to  efface  in  some  degree  the  impression  produced 
by  his  encouragement  of  idolatry,  he  affected  great  zeal  for 
the  Jewish  religion,  and  commenced  the  greatest  of  his  works, 
the  rebuilding  and  beautifying  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem.  An 
account  of  that  splendid  building  is  not  within  the  scope  of 
this  work,  and  we  must  turn  again  to  the  dark  scenes  of 
Herod's  history,  which  only  ended  with  his  life. 


408  DARK  SCENES   OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


HEROD    THE    GREAT. 


I 


The  death  of  Mariamne  and  Alexandra  did  not  terminate 
the  dissensions  in  Herod's  house  and  family,  for  the  enmity  of 
the  fiend  Salome  survived  the  death  of  the  beautiful  Jewish 
princess,  and  was  extended  to  her  children.  Pheroras,  too, 
was  induced  to  enter  into  the  criminal  designs  of  his  sister ; 
and  a  conspiracy  was  formed  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  Al- 
exander and  Aristobulus,  by  exciting  the  jealousy  of  their  fa- 
ther against  them.  So  long  as  they  remained  in  Rome  this 
purpose  could  not  be  effected ;  but,  toward  the  middle  of  his 
reign,  Herod  visited  Caesar  in  Italy,  and  returned,  bringing 
the  two  princes  with  him.  Inheriting  the  beauty  of  their 
mother,  and  skilled,  like  their  father,  in  all  warlike  exercises, 
they  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  people  of  Judaea  ;  and 
the  popularity  they  acquired  only  excited  more  hatred  in  the 
breast  of  Salome,  while  it  afforded  her  the  better  opportunity 
of  prosecuting  her  designs  against  them.  Whether  Herod 
perceived  the  enmity  of  his  sister  toward  his  sons  or  not,  he 
seems  to  have  been  but  little  moved  at  first  by  her  insinua- 
tions; and  he  bestowed  her  daughter,  Bernice,  upon  Aris- 
tobulus, perhaps  with  a  politic  view  of  binding  his  sister  to 
the  interests  of  his  children.  At  the  same  time,  he  obtained 
for  Alexander  the  hand  of  Glaphyra,  the  daughter  of  his 
friend  Archelaus,  king  of  Cappadocia. 

No  effect  was  produced  upon  Salome  by  the  marriage  of 
her  daughter  to  Aristobulus.  She  followed  her  designs  with 
bitter  perseverance,  and  caused  it  to  be  rumored  among  the 
attendants  and  friends  of  Herod  that  the  sons  of  Marianme 
ceased  not  to  lament,  with  bitter  indignation,  the  death  of 
their  mother,  and  openly  called  their  father  the  murderer  of 
Mariamne.  Perhaps  the  boldness  and  rashness  of  youth  af- 
forded this  wicked  woman  occasion  for  calumny ;  for  we  are 
told  that  they  were  indiscreet  in  their  discourse,  and  unspar- 
ing of  reproaches  against  both  Salome  and  Pheroras.  Day 
by  day,  however,  rumors  reached  Herod  of  designs  against 
him  on  the  part  of  his  sons  ;  and  with  less  than  his  ordinary 
prudence  he  introduced  fresh  elements  of  dissension  into  his 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  409      «; 

court,  in  order  to  keep  in  check  the  daring  spirit  of  Alexander 
and  his  brother. 

Previous  to  his  marriage  with  Mariamne,  he  had  maiTied 
an  Idumsean  lady,  by  whom  he  had  a  son  named  Antipater. 
Both  wife  and  son  had  been  greatly  neglected  for  many  years  ; 
but  Herod  now  called  Antipater  to  Jerusalem,  and  distin- 
guished him  by  great  favor.  He  was  a  shrewd  and  cunning 
Edomite,  ambitious,  remorseless,  and  designing.  No  truce 
was  sufficiently  strong  to  bind  him,  no  crime  too  horrible  to 
be  attempted  for  the  attainment  of  his  purposes.  No  sooner 
did  he  find  himself  stand  high  in  his  father's  regard,  than, 
siding  with  Salome  and  Pheroras,  he  aided  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  designs,  but  with  even  greater  shrewdness  and 
dexterity.  He  never  appeared  as  the  accuser  of  his  brethren, 
but  rather  affected  to  pity  and  to  love  them,  taking  care  that 
the  offensive  words  and  rash  actions  he  attributed  to  them 
should  be  reported  to  Herod  by  his  agents,  and  that  the  mind 
of  the  king  should  be  kept  in  a  continual  state  of  irritation 
against  Alexander  and  Aristobulus.  Continually  at  the  ear 
of  Herod,  devoting  his  whole  time  and  thoughts  to  cultivate 
his  affection,  he  day  by  day  acquired  greater  power  over  the 
king's  mind,  while  the  discontent  of  his  brethren  at  his  eleva- 
tion only  served  to  aggravate  their  father's  anger.  His  moth- 
er was  recalled  to  the  court  and  treated  with  distinction,  al' 
though  the  many  wives  who  already  thronged  the  palace 
might  not,  perhaps,  view  her  return  with  great  satisfaction. 

When  Agrippa,  after  a  long  sojourn  in  Asia,  was  about  to 
return  to  Rome,  Herod  paid  him  a  visit  of  honor  ere  his  de- 
parture ;  but  he  took  none  of  his  children  with  him  except 
Antipater,  whom  he  placed  under  Agrippa's  care,  and  sent, 
with  commendations,  to  Caesar.  Salome  and  Pheroras,  how- 
ever, were  not  idle.  Nor  did  Antipater,  though  absent,  aban- 
don his  designs.  Whatever  tales  he  could  obtain  of  the  con- 
duct of  Mariamne's  sons,  which  might  tend  to  irritate  their 
father,  he  sent  diligently  from  Rome,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
the  agents  of  Salome  filled  the  king's  ears  with  confirmatory 
reports,  till,  moved  by  anger,  Herod  determined  to  accuse  his 
two  sons  before  Caesar,  and  leave  that  monarch  to  decide 
their  fate. 

Taking  Alexander  and  Aristobulus  with  him  in  a  sort  of 
honorable  imprisonment,  he  set  out  for  Italy,  and  publicly  ac- 
cused them  before  Augustus,  declaring  that  they  meditated 
his  death.  His  speech  was  vehement,  confused,  and  indig- 
nant, but  he  produced  no  proofs  of  his  charge  ;  and  the  worst 

S 


410  DARK  SCEiNES  OF  HISTORY. 

that  he  could  allege  against  tliem  was  supported  by  nothing 
but  rumor. 

The  two  brothers  were  deeply  affected ;  but  Alexander, 
the  elder,  who  was  endued  with  great  eloquence,  replied  in  a 
powerful  and  beautiful  speech,  avoiding  all  imputation  upon 
his  father,  but  showing  the  groundless  nature  of  his  accusa- 
tion, and  clearly  pointing  out  the  source  of  those  calumnies 
which  had  moved  their  father's  mind  against  them.  Every 
one  in  Caesar's  court  was  affected  by  the  young  man's  de- 
fense ;  and  Augustus,  judging  more  sanely  than  Herod,  pro- 
nounced the  two  youths  innocent  of  the  charge  brought  against 
them.  In  order  to  soften  his  decision  against  Herod,  he  blamed 
them  lightly  for  imprudence,  without  which,  he  said,  their  fa- 
ther could  not  have  entertained  such  suspicions,  and  then  rec- 
onciled Herod  to  his  sons,  at  least  for  the  time. 

On  the  return  of  the  whole  family  to  Judaea,  however,  the 
dissensions  in  Herod's  court  broke  out  anew.  The  intrigues 
of  Antipater  ceased  not  for  a  moment.  Salome  busied  her- 
self as  much  as  ever  ;  and  Pheroras,  the  king's  brother,  though 
at  enmity  with  Herod,  leagued  with  Antipater,  and  assisted 
in  kU  his  designs.  Pheroras,  indeed,  was  detected  in  endeav- 
oring to  poison  the  mind  of  Alexander  against  Herod,  and^ 
when  indignantly  charged  by  the  king  with  the  calumnies  he 
had  uttered,  declared  that  he  had  heard. them  from  Salome. 
Had  Herod  used  the  great  powers  of  mind  with  which  he  was 
endowed  to  discover  the  truth  upon  this  occasion,  the  intrigues 
against  the  sons  of  Mariamne  must  have  been  brought  to 
light ;  but  he  contented  himself  with  banishing  both  Pheroras 
and  Salome  from  his  court  for  a  time,  but  still  believed  every 
tale  they  caused  to  be  circulated  against  Alexander  and  Aris- 
tobulus. 

Day  by  day  the  frightful  suspicions  which  always  haunt 
the  tyrant  increased  upon  the  King  of  Judaea.  His  palace 
became  a  slaughter-house  ;  one  domestic  accused  another,  and 
procured  his  death,  to  show  a  zeal  for  the  king ;  the  accuser 
was  then  charged  in  turn,  and  likewise  slain  ;  his  best  friends 
and  counselors  were  expelled  from  Herod's  court ;  and  who- 
ever showed  the  slightest  attachment  for  his  sons  were  tor- 
tured, to  make  them  confess  imaginary  crimes.  Still  Antip- 
ater reigned  supreme  over  the  mind  of  his  father,  and  at 
length  succeeded  in  inducing  him  to  cast  Alexander  into 
bonds. 

Once  more  the  dissension  between  Herod  and  Alexander 
was  appeased  by  the  wis^lom  and  skill  of  Archclaus,  king  of 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  411 

Cappadocia.  He  induced  Pheroras,  too,  to  acknowledge  his 
crimes,  and  then  obtained  mercy  for  him  from  his  merciless 
brother.  Feasting  and  revelry  succeeded  to  this  reconcilia- 
tion ;  but  peace  was  not  of  long  duration.  Antipater  was 
not  yet  detected ;  and  it  would  appear  that  he  corrupted  a 
cunning  and  unprincipled  Lacedaemonian,  named  Eurycles,  to 
accuse  the  two  sons  of  Mariamne  to  Herod  of  a  design  to  take 
away  his  life  while  hunting.  A  forged  letter  was  also  pro- 
duced, purporting  to  be  in  Alexander's  writing,  and  confirma- 
tory of  the  charge  ;  but,  although  many  persons  were  put  to 
the  torture,  no  evidence  of  the  young  men's  guilt  could  be  ob- 
tained, except  the  mere  report  of  Eurycles,  who  had  convey- 
ed himself  away  as  soon  as  he  had  spread  the  calumny. 

Alexander  and  Aristobulus  were  placed  in  solitary  confine- 
ment, and  once  more  a  charge  was  laid  against  them  before 
CaBsar.  The  emperor  left  the  decision  of  the  case  to  Herod 
himself,  but  counseled  him  to  bring  them  to  public  trial.  The 
mockery  of  a  trial  was  indeed  instituted  at  Berytus.  The 
enemies  of  the  young  men  sat  in  judgment  upon  them  ;  they 
were  not  permitted  to  hear  or  refute  the  accusation,  nor  were 
brought  personally  before  the  court.  In  their  absence,  and 
undefended,  they  were  condemned,  and  carried  as  prisoners 
from  town  to  town  in  the  train  of  Herod,  while  some  remains 
of  human  feeling  struggled  in  his  bosom  against  the  insane 
rage  which  inflamed  him  toward  his  sons.  The  malice  of 
the  young  men's  enemies,  however,  and  the  imprudence  of 
their  friends,  combined  to  accelerate  the  final  act  of  the  trage- 
dy. Salome  and  Antipater  were  incessant  in  urging  their 
death  ;  and  Tero,  a  veteran  soldier  and  faithful  servant  of  the 
king,  enraged  him  to  madness  by  boldly  reproaching  him  with 
his  folly  and  his  cruelty.  Tero  and  his  son  were  stoned  to 
death  by  Herod's  order,  and  Alexander  and  Aristobulus  were 
sent  to  Sebaste,  and  there  strangled  in  prison.  The  bodies 
were  brought  to  Alexandrium  by  night,  and  buried  by  the 
side  of  Aristobulus  their  uncle,  one  of  the  first  victims  of 
Herod's  cruelty. 


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4ia  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HEROD    THE    GREAT. 

The  clouds  gathered  thickly  over  the  tyrant  and  the  mur- 
derers. The  wicked  are  only  faithful  to  one  another  so  long 
as  they  have  a  common  object.  Salome,  Antipater,  and 
Pheroras  were  soon  at  enmity  ;  and  the  king's  sister  separated 
herself  entirely  from  the  faction  to  which  she  had  united  her- 
self for  the  sole  purpose  of  gratifying  her  malice  against  the 
children  of  Mariamne.  Antipater  and  Pheroras  now  felt  it 
needful  to  league  against  her  ;  but  she  was  too  cunning  for 
them  ;  and,  although  not  without  doubts  and  suspicions  of 
her  conduct,  Herod  yielded  to  her  influence  to  the  last  day  of 
his  Ufe.  In  his  palace  the  most  fearful  corruption  prevailed, 
and  the  most  horrible  and  disgusting  crimes  were  perpetrated. 
But  a  small  part  of  the  vail  has  been  withdrawn  by  historians 
from  the  orgies  of  Pheroras,  Antipater,  and  their  wives  and 
brethren ;  but  vices  of  the  most  frightful  character  are  ap- 
parent, and  Herod  himself  does  not  escape  without  suspi- 
cion. 

In  the  midst  of  revelry  and  debauchery,  dark  schemes  were 
concocted  between  Pheroras  and  Antipater  ;  but  both  were 
hated  by  the  whole  Jewish  people,  and  watched  incessantly 
by  the  keen  eyes  of  Salome.  Their  secret  meetings  were  de- 
tected, and  their  hidden  vices  exposed ;  and  the  daring  inso- 
lence of  Pheroras' s  wife  and  Antipater' s  mother,  Doris,  was 
urged  upon  Herod,  and  drove  him  to  fury.  So  great  was  the 
wrath  and  indignation  of  the  Jews  at  Antipater,  that  he  en- 
tertained fears  for  his  personal  safety,  and  obtained  leave  to 
visit  Rome.  Pheroras,  too,  seeing  that  he  should  be  com- 
pelled by  his  brother  to  separate  himself  from  the  intriguing 
woman  who  ruled  him  if  he  remained  in  Judaja,  abandoned 
his  brother's  court  and  betook  himself  to  his  tetrarchy  of  Perea, 
vowing  that  he  would  never  return  so  long  as  Herod  was 
alive.  Doris,  it  would  seem,  went  with  him  ;  and  before  he 
and  Antipater  parted  a  dark  compact  was  entered  into  be- 
tween them  aflecting  the  life  of  the  king. 

The  will  of  Herod,  appointing  Antipater  his  immediate  suc- 
cessor, was  carried  by  his  sou  to  Rome.     But  Antipater  was 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  413 

eager  to  enjoy  power,  and  complained  that  his  own  hair  was 
getting  gray,  while  Herod  still  continued  to  reign.  He  feared 
also  the  caprices  of  the  tyrant,  with  whose  jealous  and  suspi- 
cious nature  he  was  but  too  well  acquainted,  and  he  re- 
solved to  hasten  his  own  accession ;  nor  did  he  find  Pheroras 
an  unwilling  instrument. 

Herod  fell  sick,  and  was  supposed  to  be  at  the  point  of 
death.  His  son  Antipater  was  afar,  and  dangers  menaced 
his  kingdom  should  he  expire  with  none  but  his  younger 
children  around  him.  In  his  extremity  he  sent  for  his  broth- 
er Pheroras,  for  strong  fraternal  love  was  one  of  the  finest  in- 
consistencies of  Herod's  character.  Pheroras,  however,  re- 
fused to  come,  and  Herod  unexpectedly  recovered.  Not  long 
after,  however,  Pheroras  himself  was  seized  with  a  fatal  dis- 
ease, and,  forgetting  all  his  anger,  Herod  hastened  Jo  Perea  to 
comfort  his  brother  in  his  sickness.  He  found  him  at  the 
point  of  death  ;  and,  seated  by  his  bedside,*  wept  and  bemoan- 
ed him  with  all  his  ancient  love  revived  in  full  force.  Tears, 
however,  were  of  no  avail ;  Pheroras  died,  and  Herod  brought 
his  body  with  great  pomp  to  Jerusalem. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  rumor  arose  that  Pheroras  had  been 
poisoned  ;  and  two  of  his  freedmen,  high  in  his  confidence,  ac- 
cused his  wile  before  Herod  of  having  caused  his  death.  The 
charge  was  improbable,  for  the  woman,  whom  Pheroras  had 
raised  to  his  bed  from  the  rank  of  a  servant,  owed  all  to  him, 
and  lost  all  when  he  died.  Nevertheless,  the  freedmen  urged 
Herod  strongly  to  examine  into  the  case,  bringing  forward 
some  proof  that  a  subtle  poison  had  been  introduced  into  the 
palace  of  their  master  a  short  time  before  his  death.  Over 
ready  to  employ  the  torture,  Herod  seized  upon  some  of  the 
women  slaves  of  Pheroras's  wife,  together  with  some  of  the 
free  women  by  whom  his  brother  had  been  ever  surrounded. 
None,  even  in  their  agony,  brought  any  charge  against  the 
wife  of  the  tetrarch  ;  but  one  of  them,  in  the  extreme  of  pain, 
exclaimed,  "  May  God,  who  governs  earth  and  heaven,  punish 
Antipater's  mother,  the  author  of  all  our  miseries." 

These  words  excited  curiosity  and  suspicion.  The  torture 
was  applied  still  more  severely,  and  the  dark  tale  of  Antip- 
ater's plots  against  his  father  was  revealed.  His  disobedience, 
his  discontent,  his  betrayal  of  his  father's  secrets  were  all 
made  manifest,  and  the  complicity  of  his  mother  Doris  was 
clearly  proved.  Still  there  was  more  to  be  discovered ;  the 
steward  of  Antipater  was  apprehended  and  put  to  the  torture  ; 
and  now  the  story  of  the  poison  was  told.     It  appeared  that 


414  DARK  SCENES   OF  HISTORY. 

Herod's  son  had  «ent  a  companion  of  his,  named  Antiphylus, 
into  Egypt,  to  his  mother's  brother,  a  physician  named  Then- 
dion,  to  procure  a  poison  to  be  administered  to  the  king.  It 
was  readily  obtained,  and  Antiphylus  brought  it  back  from 
Egypt  to  Pheroras,  who  was  to  use  it  against  Herod  during 
Antipater's  absence  in  Rome.  Pheroras  committed  it  to  the 
charge  of  his  wife  till  an  opportunity  occurred  for  administer- 
ing it  to  the  king ;  but  death  seized  upon  him  ere  the  crime 
was  accomplished. 

Such  was  the  tale  of  the  steward  under  the  torture  ;  and 
the  widow  of  Pheroras  was  then  brought  into  the  presence  of 
Herod.  She  did  not  deny  the  fact,  and  the  king  commanded 
her  immediately  to  bring  the  box  of  poison  which  had  been 
intrusted  to  her. 

She  went  away  to  fetch  it ;  but  fear  of  the  tortures  to  which 
Herod  might  subject  her  came  upon  her  as  she  went,  and  she 
cast  herself  down  from  the  top  of  the  buildmg,  with  the  in- 
tention of  destroying  herself  It  was  not  the  will  of  Heaven, 
however,  that  there  should  be  any  more  concealment,  and 
she  was  taken  up  senseless,  but  not  seriously  injured.  When 
she  recovered,  Herod  swore  to  her  that,  if  she  would  confess 
the  whole  truth,  he  would  forgive  her  every  thing  and  treat 
her  with  favor,  but  that  if  she  concealed  any  thing  he  would 
tear  her  to  pieces. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  exclaimed,  "  Now  that 
Pheroras  is  dead,  why  should  I  conceal  the  truth  in  order  to 
save  Antipater,  who  is  all  our  destruction.  Hear,  O  king, 
and  be  God  himself,  who  can  not  be  deceived,  a  witness  to 
the  truth  of  what  I  tell  thee.  When  thou  didst  sit  weeping  by 
Pheroras,  on  his  death-bed,  he  called  to  me  and  said,  '  I  have 
been  greatly  deceived  as  to  my  brother's  conduct  toward  me. 
I  have  hated  him  that  loves  me,  I  have  contrived  to  kill  him 
who  thus  grieves  for  me  even  before  I  am  dead ;  as  for  myself, 
I  receive  the  due  recompense  of  my  wickedness  ;  but  do  thou 
bring  the  poison  that  was  given  to  us  by  Antipater,  and  cast 
it  into  the  fire  immediately  in  my  sight.'  I  brought  the  poison 
as  he  bade  me,  and  cast  the  greater  part  of  it  into  the  fire ; 
but  I  reserved  a  little  to  take  myself,  in  case  of  need,  out  of 
fear  of  thee." 

The  box,  with  the  remainder  of  the  poison,  was  then  pro- 
duced, and  the  brother  and  mother  of  Antiphylus,  having 
been  put  to  the  torture,  acknowledged  that  he  had  brought 
it  out  of  Egypt  by  Antipater's  orders.  Antiphylus  himself 
had  returned  to  Egypt ;  but  it  was  fated  that  no  proof  should 


HEROD  THE  GREAT.  415 

be  wanting  of  the  intended  parricide,  and  the  most  conclusive 
evidence  was  soon  procured. 

The  roads  were  strictly  guarded  to  prevent  any  intelligence 
of  the  discoveries  which  had  been  made  from  reaching  Antip- 
ater  in  Rome ;  and,  indeed,  so  hateful  was  he  to  the  whole 
Jewish  people,  that  few  but  his  own  near  relations  would  risk 
any  thing  to  serve  him.  Ignorant  of  all  that  was  taking 
place,  and  still  full  of  his  detestable  designs,  he  dispatched  a 
freedman  named  Bathyllus  from  Rome,  addressing  him  to 
his  mother  Doris,  and  to  Pheroras.  This  man  was  imme- 
diately apprehended,  and  upon  him  M'-as  found  another  box  of 
poison  for  the  destruction  of  Herod,  lest  the  first  should  fail 
in  its  effect.  Upon  this  man,  also,  were  found  letters  from 
Antipater,  and  various  persons  whom  he  had  suborned  in 
Rome,  calumniating  the  two  younger  sons  of  the  king,  Arche- 
laus  and  Philip ;  and  Herod,  doubtless,  traced  in  them  the 
same  machinations  which  had  destroyed  Alexander  and  Aris- 
tobulus. 

Dissembling  his  wrath,  however,  in  order  to  get  Antipater 
once  more  into  his  power,  he  wrote  to  him  to  return  to  Ju- 
daea, with  many  expressions  of  interest  in  his  welfare.  He 
alluded,  too,  to  the  disgrace  which  had  fallen  upon  Doris, 
lest  rumor  should  have  carried  some  of  the  facts  to  liis  son^fe 
ears  ;  but  he  treated  the  matter  lightly,  and  held  out  to  Antip- 
ater the  expectation  of  her  restoration  to  favor  on  her  son's 
return. 

Antipater  was  already  on  his  way  back  when  these  letters 
reached  him  with  the  news  of  Pheroras's  death.  Though 
somewhat  troubled  and  suspicious,  he  sailed  on,  persuaded  by 
some  of  his  friends  that  his  presence  would  prove  all-powerful 
with  Herod ;  but  when  he  arrived  at  Caesarea,  the  coldness 
of  his  reception  struck  him  with  terror.  No  one  came  to  meet 
or  do  him  honor  ;  no  acclamations  greeted  his  return  ;  but  the 
people  cursed  him  openly  as  the  murderer  of  his  brothers, 
and  he  speedily  perceived  that  the  tide  of  fortune  had  turned 
against  him. 

It  was  too  late  now  to  turn  back,  however  ;  and,  proceed- 
ing to  Jerusalem,  he  presented  himself  in  the  purple  garments 
of  royalty  at  the  gates  of  his  father's  palace.  The  door-keep- 
ers gave  him  admission,  but  shut  the  gates  in  the  face  of  his 
train  ;  and  when  he  presented  himself  before  Herod,  he  was 
spurned  from  his  father's  presence,  and  called  the  murderer 
of  his  brethren  and  the  plotter  of  his  father's  destruction.  His 
trial  was  appointed  to  take  place  the  next  day,  before  Quin- 


416  DARK  SCENES  OF   HISTORY. 

tilius  Varus,  the  president  of  Syria,  who  was  in  Jerusalem  at 
the  time.  He  was  suffered,  however,  to  see  his  wife  and  his 
mother,  and  from  them  learned  the  whole  extent  and  nature 
of  the  accusation  against  him.  His  cunning  and  his  daring 
did  not  desert  him,  and  he  prepared  for  his  defense. 

The  trial  afforded  him  was  far  more  fair  and  equitable 
than  that  which  had  been  granted  to  his  unfortunate  breth- 
ren. He  was  brought  into  the  court,  and  face  to  face  with 
the  witnesses  against  him.  He  heard  the  accusation,  and 
had  every  opportunity  given  him  of  refuting  it.  Herod  stated 
his  own  case  till  he  was  stopped  by  tears,  when  an  orator 
proceeded  to  support  and  conclude  that  which  he  had  begun. 

Then  Antipater  was  allowed  to  defend  himself,  and  in  a 
labored  and  ingenious  speech  he  endeavored  to  show,  first, 
that  it  was  improbable,  if  not  impossible,  that  he  should  be 
guilty  of  the  crimes  with  which  he  was  charged,  laying  great 
stress  upon  the  many  proofs  which  he  pretended  to  have  given 
of  his  affection  for  Herod,  and  alluding  to  the  destruction  of 
his  brethren  as  evidences  of  his  love  for  his  father,  thus  mak- 
ing his  very  crimes  subservient  to  his  defense.  He,  secondly, 
urged  the  doubtful  nature  of  all  evidence  procured  by  torture, 
but  at  the  same  time  demanded  to  be  tortured  himself,  to 
aiiow  that  no  confession  could  be  extracted  from  him  ;  and, 
with  tears  and  imprecations,  endeavored,  not  without  success, 
to  move  the  feelings  of  his  judges. 

Nicolaus  of  Damascus,  Herod's  advocate,  then  replied,  and 
soon  effaced  the  effect  produced  by  Antipater's  evidence,  and 
brought  forward  the  various  witnesses,  commenting  upon  their 
evidence.  All  those  who  had  been  tortured  were  brought 
into  court ;  but  many  others  now  came  forward  whose  testi- 
mony was  unimpeachable,  either  to  state  new  facts  or  to  cor- 
roborate those  already  adduced.  A  scene  of  villainy  and  wick- 
edness never,  perhaps,  paralleled  was  exposed  to  the  eyes  of 
the  world ;  and  Antipater,  utterly  confounded,  fell  upon  his 
face,  appealing  to  God  to  give  some  testimony  of  his  innocence. 

As  the  last  proof,  the  box  of  poison  which  had  been  found 
was  brought  into  the  court,  and  a  condemned  criminal  was 
found  to  swallow  it.  The  man  died  immediately  ;  and  Quin- 
tilius  Varus,  rising  without  pronouncing  a  sentence,  left  the 
fate  of  Antipater  in  the  hand  of  Herod. 

Antipater  was  now  cast  into  chains,  and  remained  for  many 
months  a  prisoner.  While  in  this  state  his  guilty  contrivan- 
ces were  further  displayed  by  the  apprehension  of  a  slave  sent 
to  him  by  Antiphylus,  who  bore  forged  letters,  purporting  to 


HEROD  TH-E    GREAT.  417 

be  from  Salome  to  the  wife  of  Csesar,  accusing  Herod  of  great 
crimes.  Secret  papers  were  found  sealed  up  in  the  man's  coat, 
showing  that  these  letters  had  been  manufactured  by  Antip- 
ater  himself  at  Rome  and  copied  by  a  slave  of  the  empress, 
whom  he  had  corrupted  in  order  to  destroy  Salome.  The 
discovery  of  such  practices  showed  Herod  but  too  plainly  the 
means  which  had  been  employed  for  the  ruin  of  Alexander 
and  Aristobulus,  and  bitter  was  the  sorrow  he  endured. 

From  this  time  the  insane  fury  of  Herod  knew  no  bounds. 
His  merciless  cruelty  increased,  and  a  heavy  distemper  which 
fell  upon  him  rendered  him  but  the  more  fierce  and  intracta- 
ble. He  clung  to  life  and  he  clung  to  power,  although  his 
days  were  evidently  drawing  to  a  close.  A  large  golden  ea- 
gle, which  he  had  erected  over  the  gate  of  the  temple,  and 
which  was  looked  upon  as  an  idolatrous  symbol  by  all  the 
more  religious  and  virtuous  of  the  Jewish  people,  was  pulled 
down  in  a  tumultuous  manner  ;  but  Herod's  vengeance  was 
not  slow.  An  immense  multitude  of  those  concerned  in  the 
deed  were  caught ;  some  were  burned  to  death,  and  some 
slaughtered  by  a  less  cruel  process. 

About  this  time,  too,  must  have  taken  place  the  massacre 
of  the  children  of  Bethlehem,  an  act  in  complete  accordance 
with  Herod's  temper  and  conduct  at  the  time.=^  Nothing 
was  too  brutal,  too  bloody,  or  too  cruel  for  the  jealous  and 
suffering  tyrant.  He  seemed  to  seek  for  objects  on  which  to 
revenge  the  pangs  which  sickness  inflicted  upon  him  ;  and  the 
fantastic  dreams  of  wholesale  and  unprovoked  butchery  which 
flitted  across  his  mind  in  his  dying  moments  plainly  indicated 
the  taints  of  insanity  which  had  affected  his  brain  ever  since 
the  death  of  Mariamne.  Terrible  were  his  sufferings,  mental 
and  bodily,  and  the  hand  of  God  seemed  visible  in  retribution 
for  his  impiety  and  injustice.  A  burning  heat  consumed  him ; 
dropsy  affected  his  Hmbs  and  invaded  his  chest.  The  breath 
of  life  was  drawn  with  labor  and  pain ;  putrefaction  seized 

*  There  is  some  doubt  and  confusiou  as  to  the  chronology  of  this 
event ;  nor  does  Josephus  mention  the  horrible  deed  recorded  by  St. 
Matthew.  This  omission,  however,  on  the  part  of  Josephus  would  by 
no  means  justify  a  doubt  of  the  fact,  even  in  the  mind  of  one  who  did 
not  admit  the  divine  inspiration  of  the  evangelist,  for  St.  Matthew  is 
undoubtedly  as  sincere  a  historian  as  Josephus.  I  am  not  ignorant  that 
an  eclipse  of  the  moon  which  took  place  a  short  time  before  Herod's 
death  has  been  brought  forward  to  show  that  he  had  ceased  to  exist 
before  the  coming  of  the  Messiah.  But  are  the  exact  periods  of  oar 
Savior's  birth  and  Herod's  death  ascertained  beyond  all  doubt?  1 
think  not ;  and  often  historical  difficulties  will  disappear  in  a  moment 
when  precise  information  is  obtained  upon  points  previously  obscure, 

^2 


418  DARK   SCENES    OF    HISTORY. 

upon  him  living;  and  worms  were  generated  in  his  flesh. 
Peace  and  rest  he  had  none  ;  his  breath  was  poisonous.  Even 
his  sycophants  could  hardly  bear  the  pestiferous  atmosphere 
around  him. 

Yet  hfe  and  the  hope  of  life  were  prolonged  for  many  days. 
He  had  himself  carried  to  the  healing  waters  ;  he  was  bathed 
in  warm  oil.  At  times  he  seemed  to  revive,  and  rose  up  re- 
freshed ;  but  it  was  only  to  struggle  with  fresh  torments. 
The  strong  man  resisted  the  angel  of  death,  but  suffered  fear- 
fully in  the  fatal  conflict.  For  some  months  he  continued 
with  the  worms  of  the  grave  preying  upon  his  living  body, 
unprepared  for  death,  unchastised  by  repentance,  unwilUng  to 
lay  his  head  in  the  quiet  tomb,  hopeless  of  peace  beyond  the 
sepulcher,  and  without  an  effort  to  avert  the  retribution  of 
another  world. 

Herod's  last  acts  were  worthy  of  those  which  preceded 
them.  Once,  in  the  agony  he  suffered,  the  thought  of  death 
seemed  comfortable  to  him,  and  he  tried  to  stab  himself  with 
a  knife  that  was  in  his  hand.  He  was  prevented,  however, 
and  a  loud  cry  and  lamentation  ran  through  his  house  at 
Jericho,  where  he  then  lay.  Many  thought  the  king  dead, 
and  the  sounds  reached  the  wretched  Antipater  in  his  dun- 
geon. He  fancied  that  the  hour  of  his  triumph  was  come ; 
he  besought  the  jailer  to  set  him  free  at  once.  He  promised 
him  great  things.  He  felt  himself  already  King  of  Judaea. 
But  the  jailer  knew  better.  He  carried  the  tale  to  Herod, 
and  an  order  was  instantly  given  for  Antipater's  death.  It 
was  executed  without  remorse,  for  those  even  who  hated  the 
father  did  not  pity  the  son. 

Herod  by  this  time  felt  that  he  was  dying,  and  knew  that 
in  his  wide  dominions  no  lip  prayed  for  his  safety — no  eye 
would  drop  a  tear  upon  his  grave.  Hated  of  all  men,  he  was 
going  down  to  the  tomb ;  but  he  resolved  that  there  should 
be  mourning  at  his  funeral,  that  all  the  men  of  Judaea  should 
weep,  if  they  wept  not  for  Herod.  He  sent  for  the  heads  of 
families  and  the  principal  persons  of  all  the  cities,  command- 
ing them,  under  pain  of  death,  to  come  to  him  at  Jericho,  as 
if  he  had  gome  important  afikir  which  required  counsel  from 
the  nation.  They  flocked  to  the  city  from  all  parts,  and 
when  they  were  come  he  shut  them  up  in  the  hippodrome. 
Then  sending  for  his  sister  Salome,  whom  he  knew  to  be  re- 
morseless like  himself,  and  for  her  husband,  who  was  his  mere 
creature,  and  telling  them  that  he  was  resolved  that  there 
should  be  mourning  for  his  death,  he  bound  them  by  oath,  as 


HEROD    THE    GREAT.  419 

soon  as  his  spirit  was  departed,  and  before  his  decease  was 
known,  to  bring  his  soldiery  round  the  hippodrome  and  slay 
all  whom  it  contained.  Their  promises  seemed  to  have  satis- 
fied the  last  bloody  thirst  of  his  heart,  and  he  died  on  the  fifth 
day  after  he  had  put  Antipater  to  death. 

His  barbarous  injunction  was  not  obeyed.  The  heads  of 
the  Jewish  families  were  suffered  to  retire  in  peace,  and  the 
funeral  of  the  mighty  miscreant  occupied  his  surviving  family. 

Carried  on  a  golden  bier  covered  with  precious  stones, 
shrouded  with  purple,  a  diadem  upon  his  head,  a  scepter  in 
his  hand,  surrounded  by  the  relations  he  had  left  hving,  and 
followed  by  an  army,  the  body  of  Herod  was  carried  from  Jer- 
icho to  Herodium,  and  there  placed  in  its  pompous  sepulcher. 

But  he  died  unwept  by  any,  detested  by  all.  A  feigned 
mourning  of  eight  days  succeeded  ;  and  feasting  and  revelry, 
the  liberation  of  prisoners,  and  the  remission  t)f  taxes  an- 
nounced to  the  world  that  Herod's  sons  and  the  Jewish  peo- 
ple rejoiced  over  a  great  deliverance. 


THE   END. 


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